Goodnight
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: AU. The last thing Burt Hummel wanted was a foster kid, especially one as skittish as Kurt. But when he finds out that Kurt has been viciously abused, it changes the game. Maybe he needs this kid as much as the kid needs him.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt stared in dismay. "I'm supposed to what?" he said.<p>

"You were on the list," the social worker half-apologized. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hummel, but I really have no choice. I have to place the child with someone."

Burt turned back to the car he was working on, sorting through the damaged engine. "I can't do it," he said shortly. "I can't take a kid."

"But…your name was on the list, Mr. Hummel," the harried woman objected. "For emergency placement."

"My wife arranged for us to be put on that list, and she's dead," Burt said shortly. "If I'd remembered, I'd have taken our name off."

The social worker looked like she didn't know whether to scream or cry. "Mr. Hummel, I have four children packed into my car that need homes tonight," she said. "You were on the list, and it is your duty to fulfill your obligations."

Burt tossed his wrench down on his workbench with a noisy clang and swore to himself. "So what am I'm taking?" he snapped.

The social worker relaxed. "You can pick whichever one you want," she said. "They're in the car."

Burt gritted his teeth and followed her outside. Cold March air whipped at his shirt, and the sky was already growing dark with an approaching storm. The social worker's car, a plain navy sedan, was parked under a light. "Here you are," she said, opening the front door and turning on the inside lights. "Take your pick."

Burt scanned the children sitting in the car. The sensible thing, of course, would be to take an older child, someone he wouldn't need to babysit. Two of the children were in their early teens; they'd be a good pick.

One of the children caught his eye. He huddled in the backseat between two other children, staring blankly at the floor. He was the smallest and the youngest, perhaps five or six years old, and he would be entirely impractical to take in.

But he looked up, and Burt caught his breath. The child had Mollie's eyes- brilliant, fringed with thick lashes, caught somewhere between blue and green and gray. His small shoulders slumped, but there was something about the firm set of his chin that told Burt that this little one, whatever he had been through, had not yet given up.

"That one," he said before he could stop himself, pointing to the little boy. "Him. I guess I'll take him."

"That's Kurt, he's seven," the social worker said, leaning over to unbuckle the child's seatbelt. "Get your things and get out of the car." The boy obeyed, climbing over the other children and pausing to pick up a small blue backpack. "All right, Mr. Hummel, if we can just bring the paperwork inside…"

Burt walked back into the warmth of the garage, his hands in his pockets, the woman and the child at his heels. "Now, Mr. Hummel, we'll check up on him once a month, and there'll be a stipend for his upkeep," the social worker said briskly, setting the papers on the desk in his office and pointing out where to sign. "He shouldn't be with you terribly long. It's just that his mother's ill and can't care for him right now."

Burt signed the paperwork without really reading it. The child stood beside him, silent, his backpack on his narrow shoulders. "Well, there we are," the social worker said, pleased. "Thank you so much, Mr. Hummel." She turned to the little boy. "Kurt, I want you to behave for Mr. Hummel. I'll see you in a few weeks."

With that, she marched briskly out of the garage. Burt stared down at the child, who stared right back. "So," Burt said. "Your name's Kurt?"

Kurt nodded. "I'm Burt," he said, holding out his broad hand. Kurt stared at him for a minute, as if he wasn't exactly sure what that hand was supposed to do, and gingerly placed his tiny one in his. Burt shook it gravely, his big finger swallowing up Kurt's.

"Sit there," he said, nodding towards a bench nearby. "I got to finish this engine before we can go."

Kurt obeyed without a word, sitting down and placing his backpack at his feet. Burt sighed, leaving his new burden behind, and went back to work on the car.

It took another hour before he finished. He glanced up occasionally to see how the kid was doing, only to find him right how he left him, sitting quietly with his small sneakered feet dangling above the floor.

Burt wiped his hands off on a rag and set it aside. "Let me lock up and we can go," he said. He beckoned to Kurt. "Come on, let's go."

The little boy slid off the bench and trotted obediently behind him as he shut down the garage for the night and turned on the alarm system. It was beginning to worry him that the child didn't speak.

He led him across the parking lot to his truck and opened up the passenger door. "Up you get," he said.

Kurt crawled up to the seat, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders. He looked too small to sit in the front; Burt briefly considered the possible need for a booster seat. But no, the kid wasn't going to stay with him for very long.

"You hungry?" he asked. Kurt shrugged. "You ever talk?"

"Sometimes," Kurt said. His voice was soft and high, and it startled Burt to hear him finally speak.

"Well, we'll get you to the house and get you something to eat," Burt said. "How's that sound?" Kurt just shrugged again.

They both fell silent. Burt drove the well-traveled path from his garage to his house at the outskirts of Lima without thinking about it, and pulled into the driveway. The small neat house was dark and probably looked foreboding to the quiet child sitting next to him. Burt cleared his throat. "You need help getting out?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head stubbornly and slid out of the passenger seat, following at Burt's heels as he walked up to unlock the front door. "Come on in," Burt said, ushering him inside. He flicked on the lights and turned around to get a good look at the child.

Kurt was small and skinny, his eyes too large in his pinched pale face and his hair hanging limply over his forehead. He looked like he hadn't been well for a while. His pilled gray sweater was nowhere near thick enough for the temperature outside, and his oversized shorts hung his hips. He wore knee socks pulled up as high as they could go, and his black sneakers were gray around the edges.

Burt cleared his throat. "Bathroom's that way," he said. "Go wash up and I'll get dinner on the table."

Kurt obeyed, setting his backpack down on the floor. Burt headed towards the kitchen, wondering if he had anything that a kid would want to eat. He wasn't much of a cook either. But he eventually settled on breakfast for dinner and pulled out the skillet.

Kurt edged into the kitchen as Burt was setting the plates out. "Nice of you to join me," he said. He frowned. One of Kurt's socks had slid down his leg, revealing an ugly purple splotch. "That looks like it hurts."

Kurt blanched and pulled the sock back up quickly, sitting down at the kitchen table with his hands folded in his lap. Burt set the plate down. "It's not fancy," he said. "But kids like scrambled eggs and bacon, right? What do you want to drink?" Kurt just shrugged, so Burt settled for pouring him a tumbler full of orange juice. He sat down on the opposite end of the table and started eating his own dinner. It wasn't until he was nearly done that he thought to glance at Kurt.

The child's plate looked like it had been barely touched. He chewed slowly, methodically, on a little bit of bacon, and he pushed the eggs around with his fork. "I thought you were hungry," Burt said. Kurt shrugged. Burt sighed. "If you're done eating, just stick your plate in the fridge. You can…go watch TV or something."

Kurt slid off his chair and took his plate to the refrigerator, then walked to the living room. Burt sighed and kept eating his dinner.

Mollie had been so excited about signing up for the emergency placement program. It was a new thing in Ohio, where children who needed a place to stay could be kept in homes for a few days. They weren't in the foster care system, they just needed a safe place. Mollie had been thrilled. And she would have been thrilled to take in this little boy.

Too bad she was dead.

Burt got up, rinsed off his dishes, and stuck them in the dishwasher. The house was still quiet. "The remote for the TV's on the coffee table," he called.

He walked around to the back door and whistled. His dog bounded up through the yard and up the back porch steps. "Hey, Sammy," he said, rubbing the golden retriever's floppy ears. "C'mon, bud, dinner time."

He ushered the dog inside and closed the door. It hadn't been exactly his idea to get a dog either, but Mollie had fallen in love with the puppy and he couldn't tell her no. Turns out the dog became more company than he expected after she died.

Suddenly he heard high-pitched, terrified shrieking from the living room. He ran back inside to find the child pressed back in the corner of the couch, striking blindly at Sammy. "Go away!" Kurt screamed, picking up a pillow and throwing it at the excited dog. "Don't bite me! Go away!"

Burt grabbed Sammy by the collar and tugged him back. "Stop it," he scolded the child. "He's not going to bite you, he just wanted to say hello."

He took the pillow out of Kurt's hand. His intention was just to get both the dog and the kid calmed down, but he didn't miss it when Kurt flung up a protective arm over his head, his eyes squinched shut.

"It's okay," Burt said. "Sammy just got excited. He's never had a kid to play with."

Kurt slowly unfolded himself from his protective little corner. His face was stark white and his eyes were gray and pale. Burt sighed. Maybe he could take Sammy for a walk, get some of his energy out. He walked over to the hook where Sammy's leash hung and pulled it down, snapping the large latch. "Listen, kid, I know the dog's sort of big, but he's not-"

His voice trailed off. Kurt was staring blankly at the leash in his hand, the big square buckle gleaming. The child's chest heaved. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Burt asked. He dropped the leash and knelt beside the little boy. "Are you-"

Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head and fell forward hard, his head smacking against Burt's shoulder. Inadvertently Burt closed his arms around him. "Oh, god, he blacked out," he mumbled, patting a hand against Kurt's narrow, bony back. He lifted the child easily and laid him down on the couch, then covered him with a blanket.

There was something wrong with the kid, that much was obvious. Children shouldn't be as silent and anxious as this little boy was. Sammy whined and nudged at Kurt's cold elbow. "No, no, not now," Burt muttered, pushing the dog down. "I'll take you on a walk in just a second, okay?"

He glanced back at the leash, abandoned on the floor, and its shining buckle. _No, _he thought. _No, there's no way he could've thought I would actually…no…_

He might not've known much about taking care of children, but he at least knew that a child should not be afraid of getting struck.

Burt herded Sammy out of the living room and into the kitchen. "Stay here and eat," he said, filling up his bowl. "Don't bother the kid, okay?"

Once the dog was taken care of, Burt checked on Kurt again. He had fallen into fitful sleep, his white lips softly parted. Burt sat down in the armchair, turned on the television with the volume turned down low, and waited for him to wake up.

Eventually Kurt roused, his blue eyes fluttering open. "You're okay," Burt said, keeping his voice low and gentle. "You want to go to bed?"

Kurt nodded, looking slightly dazed. At the sound of voices, Sammy padded in the living room, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Kurt whimpered and pulled back. "Come on, it's okay," Burt said. "He's just a little too friendly, but he won't hurt you. Here, give him a pat on the head."

Kurt tentatively petted the dog. Sammy closed his eyes happily, panting as he stroked his floppy ears. He licked at the child's fingers and Kurt yelped. "No, see, that means he likes you," Burt reassured him.

"He likes me?" Kurt said.

"Oh, yeah," Burt grinned. "Sammy likes everybody." He cleared his throat. "Get your stuff. I'll take you to your room."

Kurt slid off the couch, pushing the blanket aside, and followed him upstairs with his backpack in hand. His footsteps were featherlight on the stairs. Burt flicked on the hallway light. He should have probably brought the kid downstairs to the finished basement, where there was a lot more space, but he had a vague unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach about leaving him alone. So he led the kid upstairs to the tiny spare room instead.

"I know it's not much, but you can sleep here," Burt offered. "The bed should be okay. Bathroom's down the hall. Call me if you need me. 'Night."

He left the little boy alone in the room and closed the door. The child didn't offer any protest. In fact, he didn't say anything.

Burt didn't need to know that Kurt couldn't bring himself to sleep in the bed. He curled up on the floor like a kitten, still dressed in his clothes. His backpack stayed propped up by the closed door, and Kurt spent the night staring into the oppressive darkness, unable to fall asleep.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

SO YEAH THIS STORY IS SUPER ANGSTY.

The idea for this story struck me yesterday and I wrote three chapters and 10,000+ words in one sitting. INSANE, RIGHT? And I'm trying to do better and finish stories before I post them (which is why there haven't been any KGI/SYWBL/etc. updates recently) but that frustrates me so. I don't know whether to make people happy and wait till I've finished a story to post it, or make me happy and post as I go, even if it takes a long time to finish a story.

So...this one's already going up. So sue me.

Anyways, this story is heavily drawn from the saddest book ever written, _Goodnight Mister Tom _by Michelle Magorian. For those of you have read it...get your tissues out now, because yes, I am doing the closet scene. If you haven't read it...you're probably going to cry. But yeah, I discovered the movie version and watched it and remembered how much I loved the book, and realized that it would be absolutely perfect with Burt and Kurt as an AU story.

I've written up to chapter three, so you're going to meet Carole, Finn, and Blaine soon, and I have chapter four in my head. I'm debating about whether or not I should stick to canon only characters, or write in Lucy, but I guess we'll see.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt tapped his knuckles lightly against Kurt's closed bedroom door. "Kid, you awake?" he said. "Time to get up, if you want to eat breakfast."<p>

He didn't really have a choice except to take the boy to work with him. There wasn't time to find a sitter, and there definitely wasn't time to get him into school. He knocked one last time and headed down the stairs.

The child eventually made his way downstairs and slipped into a seat at the kitchen table. Burt did a doubletake. He looked awful. His eyes were ringed in dark shadows, like he hadn't slept all night, and his clothes were badly wrinkled. They were the same clothes from yesterday, if Burt wasn't mistaken.

"You want some cereal?" Burt asked. Kurt shrugged. Burt ended up pouring him a bowl of Cheerios and milk and sliding it in front of him. The boy spooned the cereal into his mouth, staring blankly at the wood grain of the table.

"We're gonna go to the garage today," Burt said as he cleaned up the kitchen. "I'm a mechanic. You like cars?"

Kurt shrugged. Burt suppressed a sigh. Apparently the kid didn't have any preferences at all.

He sent Kurt upstairs to brush his teeth, and once the kid was ready, he loaded him into the car and drove off towards the garage. His assistant manager was already there, working on an oil change, and he raised his eyebrow skeptically at the little boy trotting along at Burt's heels.

"This is Kurt, my…my foster kid," Burt explained. "He's going to stay with me for a few days. Kurt, this is Jake."

Kurt whispered a hello and ducked behind Burt's legs for safety. Burt tugged him out gently. "Go play in my office, okay?" he said. "You can…color or something."

Kurt obeyed and disappeared into the office. Burt sighed heavily and went back to work. "He's not one for talking, is he?" Jake commented.

"Not one for anything," Burt said. "He's real quiet. Kind of skittish. Just being around Sammy freaked him out."

Jake shook his head. "Kids in the system are messed up," he said. "He's probably going to kill you in your bed and rob you blind."

"But he's not even in the system," Burt objected. He made a mental note to ask Kurt about why he was there in the first place. Something about his mother, he was pretty sure the social worker had mentioned.

He worked steadily through the morning, occasionally glancing into the office to check on the kid. For the most part, Kurt seemed all right. He just hunched over at Burt's desk, his gray sweater bunching around him like a turtle's shell as he dragged a pencil across a blank piece of paper. He seemed tremendously unhappy.

At his usual lunch break, Burt actually deviated from his usual routine. Instead of eating the lunch he had packed, he got in the truck and drove to the McDonald's down the road, ordering a Big Mac meal for himself and a kid's meal for Kurt. Maybe something like that could get the child to eat.

"Here," he said, setting the brightly colored paper sack down on the desk. Kurt started. "Eat your lunch."

Kurt just stared at it like he just been handed moon rocks. Burt sighed and unpacked the fries and burger, setting them down on unfolded napkins. "Eat," he repeated.

Kurt blinked, then tore into the food. Burt took a step back. The child was starving. "Slow down, it's not going anywhere," he said. "You don't want to choke."

He sat down across from him and started eating his own lunch, eyeing the boy suspiciously as he devoured his food. When the last fry was eaten and nothing remained of the burger, not even crumbs, Kurt folded up his trash neatly and tucked it into the bag, then looked at Burt expectantly.

"Aren't you going to get the toy out?" Burt asked mildly. Kurt blinked; Burt fished around in the bag until he came up with the plastic-wrapped toy. He pulled it out of the package and placed it in Kurt's hands. It was just a tiny plush toy in the shape of a rabbit, but Kurt's eyes widened like he had just been handed the moon.

Burt gathered up their trash. "You stay here and play," he said. "I'll be out working. You let me know if you need anything, all right? And the bathroom's right over there, can't miss it."

He threw the trash away and left Kurt to his own devices. Most likely he would just keep up his quiet playtime. He was turning out to be the easiest kid in the world to babysit; he didn't mess around with stuff that wasn't his, he didn't run around underfoot when the mechanics were working, and he didn't even make a sound.

Burt peeked in on him around three o'clock. Much to his surprise, Kurt was fast asleep on the floor, tucked up in a little ball. He clutched the toy in his hands, pressing his cheek against the soft plush. That wasn't so weird, though. The weird thing was that Kurt was lying on the bare concrete floor instead of the worn plush couch right behind him.

He couldn't let the kid sleep on dirty cement. There was no way. Burt bent to pick him up, slightly startled at how light and bony the child felt. He set the boy down on the couch, wishing he had a blanket to tuck around him. Instead, he just adjusted the rabbit against Kurt's cheek.

He usually didn't leave work until long after dark- there was no one waiting for him at home, after all- but he didn't want to make the kid stay at the garage so late. At five o'clock he closed up his station, calling out instructions to Jake, and headed into the office.

"Hey, kid, time to wake up," he said. "Come on, rise and shine."

The child bolted upright, blinking dizzily. "Oh," he said, glancing around wildly at the couch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't be sorry, I put you there," Burt reassured him. "Come on, we're going to go home. Dinner time. Get your things."

Kurt slid off the couch and picked up his backpack. He held up the rabbit toy wordlessly in his palm, as if waiting for Burt to take it away from him. "No, kiddo, that's yours," Burt said, surprised. "Keep it."

Kurt held the toy to his chest, his blue eyes solemn. Burt patted his shoulder. "Come on, go out to the truck," he said.

They walked outside in the light rain. Kurt shivered; Burt made a mental note to check that little blue backpack of his for a warmer coat than that old sweater. He tucked his hands under Kurt's arms and hoisted him into the passenger seat, then walked around to his side.

Burt switched on the radio as they drove home, setting it to a quiet oldies station. He tried to think of topics of conversation, but what was he supposed to talk about with a strange seven-year-old? Better to stay quiet, he guessed.

Kurt seemed incredibly uncomfortable. He kept shifting in his seat, tucking his legs underneath him. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, and he kept closing his eyes and hunching forward. "You okay?" Burt finally asked. Kurt nodded, his chin jutting out.

Apparently that was a lie, because as soon as he parked in the driveway, the child bolted out of the seat and was promptly sick in the front yard. Burt stared at him in shock, then finally snapped out of it as Kurt fell on his knees, dry-heaving.

"Hey, kiddo, hey," Burt said, patting his back. "You're all right. You just get carsick?"

Kurt closed his eyes and nodded. Burt helped him up and guided him into the house. He could feel the child shaking under his hand. "Go get cleaned up," he said. "Rinse your mouth out."

The little boy obeyed, sliding his backpack off his narrow shoulders and stumbling down the hall. Burt paused and picked it up. It felt shockingly light in his hands

He set it on the kitchen table and unzipped the top. Carefully he picked out the few items inside. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A threadbare towel and a half-used bar of soap. A Bible. A letter addressed to "whom it may concern" in spidery cursive.

He pried the envelope open, his jaw clenched. The letter inside was written in the same handwriting.

_Dear sir or madam,_

_Thank you for taking Kurt off my hands while I recover. Like most boys he's quite naughty, but he did promise to be good without me. The social worker will let you know if I want him back. I've put the belt in the front pocket of his backpack. Feel free to use it when he acts up. Tell him I told him to be good._

_Mrs. Dinsmore_

Burt stared at the letter in disbelief. She couldn't be talking about the same child. Kurt was silent and obedient and sickly. There was no way he was as evil as she claimed.

_I've put the belt in the front pocket of his backpack._

Burt tossed the letter aside and unzipped the front section. A man's wide brown leather belt coiled in the pocket. He pulled it out; the brass buckle weighed heavy in his hand.

Suddenly the bruise on Kurt's shin made a lot more sense. So did the fainting spell when he saw the dog's leash and buckle. For a second he pictured that belt used on the fragile child that fell asleep on the floor with a stuffed rabbit in his hand, and his blood ran cold.

He rummaged through the backpack one last time, searching in vain for…well, he didn't know what. But there wasn't a change of clothes, or pajamas, or toys, or anything. Just the sparse handful of necessities and that godawful belt.

Burt walked to the bathroom, the belt clutched tightly in his hands. Kurt curled up on the floor, his cheek leaning against the cool ceramic of the toilet, but he started at the sight of the belt in Burt's hand. Burt knelt down to his eye level, the belt in hand. "I don't believe in hitting children," he said quietly. "You live in my house, you live by my rules. I've never struck a child before and I'm not going to start now."

Kurt nodded, his eyes still huge in fear. Burt dropped the belt on the floor and helped Kurt to his feet. "Let's get you to bed," he said. "Come on, get up."

He struggled to his feet, limp in Burt's hands. Burt toyed with the idea of carrying him, but he didn't know how Kurt would take that. "Go on, get," he urged, sending Kurt towards his bedroom. He stopped by the tiny laundry room and pulled out one of his old college tee shirts. It would be way too big on the kid, but it would be better than making him sleep in his clothes again.

"Here," Burt said, tossing the tee shirt at the little boy. "Put that on. You can sleep in that. I'll go make you something for dinner."

He headed down to the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry until he decided on toast and juice. It probably wouldn't do any good to try to give Kurt anything heavier than that, just in case he threw up again.

He walked into the bedroom to find Kurt sitting cross-legged on the floor, his tiny body enveloped in Burt's tee shirt. He still wore his knee socks. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.

Kurt looked up and blinked. "It's for me?" he said.

"Yeah, it's for you," Burt said. He set the toast and juice down on the nightstand and pulled the blankets back. "Come on, get into bed."

Kurt hesitantly crawled into bed and settled back gingerly against the pillows. Burt tugged the covers up and handed him the plate and cup. "Eat what you can," he said. "I don't want you to go to bed hungry, but I don't want you to eat yourself sick." He patted Kurt's knee. "I'm gonna go feed Sammy. Call if you need me."

He jogged down the stairs, whistling for the dog. Sammy bounded up to him, barking happily. Burt shushed him and herded him into the kitchen. "It's bad enough trying to make sure you eat, much less the kid," he mumbled to himself as he poured out the kibble. He glanced in the fridge in search of something to eat for himself. There was some leftover pizza from a day or two ago. That would work.

He headed back up to Kurt's room, Sammy bounding at his heels. Kurt was still aimlessly nibbling at his toast, but Burt was pleased to see that he'd eaten half of it and drank all of the juice. "Better?" he asked. Kurt nodded. Burt took the plate away and set it on the nightstand.

Sammy bounded on the bed, panting happily. Kurt jumped, but he hesitantly reached out and petted the top of the dog's head. The dog snuggled closer, nosing against Kurt's cheek and licking gently. Kurt hesitantly wrapped his arms around Sammy's neck, and Burt realized in horror that the little boy had begun to cry.

"I'm sorry," Kurt gulped. "I'm sorry, mister."

"Hey, now, don't worry about it," Burt soothed. Sammy licked a tear off Kurt's thin cheek. "You all right?"

"I'm trying to be good," Kurt pleaded, dashing at his eyes.

"You're being real good," Burt reassured him. When he was sure that the boy had calmed down, he shooed Sammy off the bed. "Lie down."

"Thanks, mister," Kurt whispered.

"You can call me Burt," he said. "Have a good sleep. Call me if you need anything."

He had already turned the lights off and headed down the hall when he heard the tiny voice call back. "Goodnight, Mister Burt."

Burt smiled to himself. The kid was starting to grow on him a little.

He ate dinner by himself in front of the television, flipping between the Discovery channel and ESPN, and took Sammy out for a brief walk around the block.

_This isn't so hard, _he told himself as he headed up to bed. _This'll work out just fine._

He tried to forget about the belt and the look of terror in Kurt's eyes.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Oh my goodness. Thank you so much for all of your nice reviews and everything! I'm glad other people like angst too...

And I'm excited that other people have read Goodnight Mister Tom! Very few of my friends have read it, so I'm excited that y'all have.

As you can probably tell, things are going to take a turn downwards as Burt finds out more about the abuse that Kurt has gone through. Poor precious baby. So yes...if child abuse is something you don't want to read about...you probably won't enjoy this story. But there's going to be a lot of Burt fixing things as best as he can. Also Carole, Finn, and Blaine are appearing in the next chapter! Huzzah!

So thank you so, so much for reading this and reviewing. :) And remember, if you ever want to drop me a line, the best way to do it is to head over to my Tumblr! My name over there is redbullandcupcakebatter.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt woke up early on Saturday morning with a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He showered and dressed, trying to push the feeling away. Maybe it was just from eating so much pizza so late the night before.<p>

He headed down the hall to Kurt's room, the sense of foreboding growing stronger. Carefully he tapped the door open, hoping to find the child sound asleep in bed.

Kurt wasn't in the bed. The blankets were pushed back, and the room smelled strange. "Kurt?" he called. "Where are you?"

He caught sight of a tiny socked foot sticking out from underneath the bed and his breath caught in his throat. "Kurt? Are you okay?" he demanded.

Kurt was curled up under the bed, shaking. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"Come out of there," Burt said, exasperated. "What are you sorry for?" He sat back and looked at the bed, only to realize it was wet. Kurt was nearly eight; that was too old for bedwetting, right?

He remembered the belt and bit his tongue.

"Come on," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. When Kurt finally emerged, Burt scooped him up and carried him down the hall to the bathroom. "I'll run you a bath. You undress while I get the laundry started."

He stripped the sheets off the bed, grabbed up Kurt's clothes that he'd worn the day before, and shoved them all into the washing machine. Funny, he ought to be upset, but he didn't feel like it. He headed back to the bathroom to find Kurt huddled in the corner, still dressed in his soaked clothes. "Kurt, you gotta take those off," he said.

"You're mad," Kurt whispered.

"No, I'm not mad," Burt said. He took the hem of the oversized tee shirt and tugged it over his head, catching his breath in horror.

Kurt's small body was covered in bruises and sores. His tiny belly was sunken and his ribs jutted out. Burt wordlessly pried off his long socks, revealing more injuries. He tugged down his worn boxers and piled them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. "You need help getting in the bathtub?" Burt asked gently. Kurt didn't answer and he lifted him into the tub, settling him carefully in the warm water. "I'll be right back, okay?"

He picked up the damp clothes and dumped them in the washing machine with the sheets. It clanged to life as he switched it on and he leaned his head in his hands. _This kid is sick, _he realized. _He's messed up._

Burt looked into the bathroom to see Kurt sitting in the bathtub with his narrow shoulders slumped. He was crying. "I'm sorry," he sobbed as Burt knelt beside him. "I'm sorry, Mister Burt."

"It's all right, kiddo, I'm not mad," Burt said. He scooped up a handful of water and dribbled it over Kurt's lank hair. "You'll feel better when you've had a bath."

He dug under the sink for a half empty bottle of Mollie's old shampoo and a clean washcloth and poured a little into his hand. The familiar scent of strawberries overwhelmed him for a moment, but he rubbed his hands together to make a thick lather and rubbed it in Kurt's hair.

He bathed Kurt like he was a very small child, smoothing the soaped-up washcloth over his sores and bruises. The child cried steadily through the whole experience, clearly miserable but not making a sound. Burt rinsed the soap from his clean pink skin and opened the drain. Kurt shivered as the warm water trickled away.

"Stand up," Burt said. He picked up a thick fluffy towel and wrapped it tightly around him. "There we go. Better?" Kurt shrugged unhappily. "Go downstairs and watch some TV or something. I'll put your clothes in the dryer."

Kurt shuffled stiffly downstairs, the towel bundled around his thin little body. Burt suppressed a sigh and switched the wet things from the washer to the dryer.

He walked into the living room to find Kurt staring longingly at a coffee table book. "You want to read that?" he asked.

Kurt jumped guiltily, drawing his hand back. "I wasn't-"

"You can read it," Burt offered.

"…can't."

Burt blinked. "What was that?"

Kurt shrugged unhappily. "I can't read," he confessed.

"But you're almost eight," Burt said, perplexed. "Can you write?"

"No."

"Haven't you been in school?"

"No. Mommy teaches me."

Somewhere in the recesses of his brain, Burt noted that that was the first time Kurt had mentioned his mother.

"What about your friends? Can't they teach you?"

"Haven't got any."

Burt opened his mouth to argue, but the little boy had gritted his jaw and was staring at the opposite wall, his arms folded tightly under the thick towel. "You want breakfast?" he sighed.

Some of the stubbornness drained from Kurt's shoulders. "No, thank you," he said in a small voice.

"You're not hungry?" Burt asked.

Kurt picked at a loose thread. "I threw up," he said in a small voice. "After you told me to go to bed, I threw up again. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's okay," Burt said. "Let me get you some water, at least."

He poured Kurt a glass of water and sat down beside him on the couch, turning on the TV and flipping around until he found a cartoon. Kurt watched it in silence, huddled in his towel cocoon. Burt leaned back against the cushions, putting a plan in place.

When the dryer buzzed he pulled out Kurt's clothes and handed them to him silently. Kurt took them into the bathroom and changed quickly. Washing did little to improve the appearance of his worn stretched-out sweater and threadbare shorts, but Kurt looked a bit better. His hair looked shinier, more like a chestnut color than limp and lank, but his skin was still incredibly pale and cold to the touch.

"We're going to go run a few errands," Burt said. "Let's go."

Kurt hesitated. "Can I…" His voice trailed off. "Um. Okay."

Burt knelt down to look him in the eyes. "Go on and ask," he said.

Kurt dug the tip of his dirty sneaker in the carpet. "Can I bring Bun?" he whispered.

Burt blinked, then remembered the dinky little Happy Meal toy. "Oh," he said. "Yeah, sure, go get your rabbit."

Kurt ran up the stairs, returning in seconds completely out of breath, but with his tiny stuffed rabbit clutched in his hand. "You ready now?" Burt asked. Kurt nodded and followed him obediently out to the truck.

Burt drove them to their first stop, the small clinic down the street. He was starting to worry about the state of Kurt's health, and it probably wouldn't hurt to have someone take a look at him. Kurt shrank back in his seat as they pulled up. "Is this where doctors are?" he said.

"Uh-huh," Burt said, parking outside and lifting him out of the seat before he could argue or pull away. "Might as well have you checked out."

Kurt squirmed in his grip. "Mommy says doctors are bad," he objected. "No. No, please, Mister Burt, I don't want to go."

Burt ignored his protests and carried him inside. Kurt was so frail that it didn't take much to subdue him.

The clinic was quieter than a typical doctor's office, and Burt was thankful for that. He signed Kurt in at the front and set him down near the small collection of toys in the waiting room. Kurt wavered uncertainly on his feet, clutching his toy rabbit in his hand.

"Go play till they call your name," Burt said, giving him a gentle push towards the toys. Kurt sat down cross-legged on the floor and squeezed the bunny tightly between his fingers. Burt picked up an old magazine and flipped aimlessly through it.

"Kurt?"

He glanced up to see a nurse practitioner standing at the door. "Come on, kiddo, get up," he said, tugging Kurt to his feet.

The NP smiled at them. She was a pleasant, pretty woman in her thirties, and she seemed to notice that Kurt seemed uneasy. "Hi, honey. I'm Carole," she said. "Go on and slip off your shoes. I'm going to write down your height and weight."

Kurt edged closer to Burt, who reached down to slip off his small shoes and set him down the scale. He whimpered, but Carole quickly took his measurements and wrote them down. "Perfect," she praised. "Good job."

Kurt froze and stared up at her, his mouth open. Carole didn't seem to notice, but Burt caught the thunderstruck look. Apparently the child wasn't used to praise.

"All right, sweetheart," Carole said, leading him into a small examination room. "Go on and get settled. I'm going to talk to your daddy for a second."

"He's not my daddy, he's Mister Burt," Kurt objected, but he obeyed the nurse and climbed up on the examination table.

Carole closed the door and faced Burt. "May I ask the story behind this, Mr. Hummel" she asked. "He doesn't have any medical records, he's incredibly underweight for his age, and he's so skittish. None of that is normal."

"He's not my kid, I'm just taking him in for a while," Burt explained hurriedly. "Foster situation. I got him two days ago."

Carole folded her arms and tilted her head. "All right," she said. "I'm glad you brought him in. Is there anything I should know about before I examine him?"

"He won't eat much, but he's puked twice in the past twenty-four hours," Burt said. "He wet the bed last night too. And he's got…he's got bruises everywhere."

"Do you know where they came from?" Carole asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure he's been beat with a belt buckle," Burt said quietly. He explained the note and the belt in the backpack.

"Let me take a look at him," she said. "Do you want to be in there?"

Burt remembered Kurt hiding behind his legs when Carole approached and nodded.

They entered the exam room to find Kurt sitting on the edge of table, staring at the floor with his rabbit clutched in his hand. "All right, Kurt, I'm going to take a look at you," she said cheerfully. "Mister Burt is going to be right here, so don't worry."

She checked Kurt's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth carefully. He responded warily to her prompting, his eyes repeatedly darting towards Burt as if to reassure himself that everything still okay. Burt nodded and smiled at him.

Carole set a stethoscope against his chest, under his shirt. "Take a deep breath in," she encouraged. Kurt obeyed, but every breath sounded more and more labored. "All right, honey, perfect. Can you take your sweater off for me?"

Kurt froze, looking at Burt in terror. "Go on," he urged. "She just wants to take a look at your bruises, kiddo."

Kurt reluctantly tangled his fingers in the hem of his oversized sweater and pulled it over his head. Burt winced at the sight of his bruised and torn skin, but Carole didn't react. She cleaned out the sores on his chest and back gently, dabbing on antiseptic cream and wrapping the worst of them with gauze. When she finished that, she pulled down his long socks and tucked up his shorts and worked on his injuries there. He looked like a small mummy by the time she was done.

"There we are, honey," she said. "Get your clothes on. I'm going to talk to Mister Burt in the hall, okay? We'll be right there."

Burt followed her into the hallway. "Is it that bad?" he whispered.

"It's abuse, clear and simple," Carole said. "He's malnourished and weak, and his injuries are ridiculous. Do you have any information on the mother?"

"I barely have information on the social worker that dumped him with me," Burt said. "What am I supposed to do with him?"

"I'm going to write you a prescription for a cream that'll help with the worst of the bruising," Carole said. "If he complains of pain, or if you think he's hurting, you can put ice on his injuries and give him some children's Tylenol. As for the throwing up, just keep him on light foods until he gets a little stronger. And vitamins, vitamins will help."

"What about the bedwetting?" Burt asked. "Is that…is that supposed to be normal?"

"It's not too unusual for a child his age, especially with a history of abuse," Carole said. "Some five-year-olds still have trouble at night."

"He's, uh…he's almost eight," Burt said.

Carole did a doubletake, then sighed. "He's the most frightened child I've ever seen," she said. "Give him some time. If he doesn't improve, bring him back and we can run some tests."

Burt sighed, dragging his hand over his face. "His mom sent him off in just the clothes he's standing in," he said. "He's got a toothbrush, a belt, and instructions for me to beat him if he acts up."

"That's awful," Carole said. Impulsively she placed a hand on Burt's arm. "Mr. Hummel, my son Finn is a little older than Kurt. He's much bigger, but he's got some old clothes he's outgrown and can't wear anymore. I could bring some by for your boy if you'd like."

"That'd be…that'd be great," Burt said, surprised. "Sure. Bring 'em by."

Carole smiled and opened the door to the exam room. "Kurt, honey?" she said. "You can go now."

Kurt slid cautiously off the edge of the table, wincing a little bit as he hit the floor. He still clutched the rabbit in his hand till his knuckles turned white. "You're done," Burt reassured him. "You did great."

Carole wrote out a prescription and handed it over to Burt. "Sweetie, would you like a lollipop?" she asked. "I usually save it for my kids who gets shots, but you did so well that I think you deserve it."

Kurt's eyes lit up as Carole held out the glass jar full of suckers. He stared at the brightly colored contents for quite a while, until Burt started to get restless, but finally he picked out a pink one, squeezing the lollipop in one hand and the rabbit in the other.

"I'll see you later," Carole said, waving a goodbye as Burt ushered Kurt outside to the car.

"Feel a little better?" Burt asked. Kurt nodded. "You can eat your sucker if you want." Kurt shook his head.

He loaded Kurt into the truck again and drove down the road. Kurt seemed a little more alert after his trip to the doctor's, but he was still incredibly pale. _I've got to get some food in him soon, _Burt thought.

He pulled into the Target parking lot and glanced over to see Kurt's pert little nose pressed against the window. "Mister Burt, are we going shopping?" he breathed.

"Yup," Burt said shortly. He got out of the truck, Kurt trotting at his heels, and pulled a red shopping cart out.

"I like shopping," Kurt admitted.

"Well, good," Burt said, pleased to see this child coming out of his shell a little bit. The sliding doors whooshed open and Kurt skittered closer. "Stay close, okay? Don't want you to get lost."

Kurt obeyed, keeping close to Burt's side. He navigated up and down the aisles, picking out things he thought the child might need- gummy vitamins, chewable Tylenol, shampoo. When he offered a choice, Kurt just shrugged and let Burt pick for him. Luckily, he was able to distract Kurt with a brightly colored display of bandaids, and while Kurt debated uselessly between the various types, he snuck a package of pull-ups into the cart. Better to save the child from the indignity until it was absolutely necessary.

They were walking past the toy aisles when Burt paused. Kurt kept walking, as if he was used to ignoring toys, but Burt glanced down at the tiny, already ratty Happy Meal toy in Kurt's small fist and cleared his throat. "Why don't you go pick something out for yourself?" he found himself saying before he could stop the words.

Kurt stared up at him. "Really, Mister Burt?" he said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Really," Burt said. He gave Kurt a gentle push. "Go on, pick out something nice. I'll wait."

Kurt wandered towards the toys, clearly confused and overwhelmed. Burt lingered by an endcap, watching him carefully. A little boy around eight or nine- Kurt's age, but he looked older and bigger- was admiring a row of toy cars. He glanced up as Kurt approached him, his face lighting up with a wide smile and his amber eyes dancing. "Have you seen these?" he asked, pointing in excitement at the cars. "They're so cool!"

Burt half-expected Kurt to run away screaming- the child really didn't take kindly to strangers. But Kurt sort of smiled shyly at the other boy, looking up at him from under his lashes. "My mom told me I could pick something out," the boy announced, hopping from foot to foot happily. His headful of dark curls bounced merrily. "Are you going to pick something out?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said.

The dark-haired boy grabbed his hand. "Let's pick out something fun," he declared. He glanced down at the toy clutched in Kurt's fist. "Oh, hullo! Who's that?"

Kurt held up the tiny stuffed rabbit. "Bun," he said.

The boy grinned, leaned forward, and kissed the rabbit. "Mwah," he said. "I like Bun. I like you." He tugged Kurt down to the next aisle. "Let's pick stuff out!"

Burt watched, amused, as the two little boys ran up and down the toy aisles. The dark-haired boy loudly exclaimed over every new toy, proclaiming that each new thing was his favorite. Kurt trailed behind him, his cheeks turning rosy pink in excitement. He even smiled a little bit. That was new.

The other child finally selected his toy, a battery-operated microphone with about a dozen special effects. He tucked it under one arm and held Kurt's hand with the other, dragging him up and down and chattering a mile a minutes as he did his best to help him pick out a toy.

Burt noticed Kurt's eyes wandering towards a display of soft stuffed animals. At one point, as the dark-haired boy pulled him down the aisle, Kurt reached out a tentative hand to touch a plush rabbit, stroking his fingers against the soft brown fur and the blue satin ribbon around its neck, but he pulled his hand away and turned his gaze towards a display of brightly colored robot toys.

Burt walked over and picked up the rabbit. It felt soft and cuddly in his hands, the perfect size and weight for a small child to snuggle. He waited for Kurt to walk by him and knelt down, holding out the rabbit. "Is this what you want?" he asked.

Kurt blanched. "It's a girl's toy," he said. "Mommy won't let me have girl toys."

"It's not a girly toy," the dark-haired boy objected. "I've got lots of stuffed animals. And doesn't little Bun want a big Bun?"

Kurt looked up at Burt, eyes large and pleading. "Can I have him, please?" he said.

Burt silently placed the stuffed rabbit in Kurt's arms. The child's sudden radiant smile made it completely worth it.

"Aw, I have to go," the other child said, disappointed. "Bye, little Bun. Bye, big Bun." He paused. "What's your name?"

"Kurt," he said shyly, hiding behind the stuffed bunny rabbit in his arms.

"I'm Blaine," the other child announced. "Bye, Kurt. Bye, Kurt's daddy."

"I'm not his dad," Burt corrected, but Blaine had already skipped away, his microphone still hugged under his arm. He sighed. "All right, kiddo, let's wrap this up. You want to put Bun in the cart?"

Kurt shook his head, hugging the rabbit tighter to his narrow chest and walking beside him down the aisles. Burt guided him around the store until he paused by the shoes. He glanced down at Kurt's worn out sneakers. There was no telling if the nice nurse was going to bring some of her son's old shoes for Kurt. Probably wouldn't hurt to get him another pair, especially if he was going to start school on Monday.

He silently nudged Kurt towards the rows of boys' shoes, sending him in the direction of the pristine athletic sneakers, particularly the ones with cartoon characters on them. Kurt studied them obediently, but he kept looking over at a pair of glossy brown penny loafers. Burt sighed and set the box in the cart, earning another brilliant, rosy cheeked smile from Kurt.

That smile was enough for him to steer towards the aisles of boys' clothes. After all, there was no telling if the nurse would bring anything for him to sleep in, and no one ever wanted second-hand underwear. He picked out a few packs of boxer-briefs that seemed about Kurt's size, as well as a couple packages of socks. Kurt agonized over the racks of pajamas, finally deciding on a navy polka dotted flannel set. Burt didn't have the heart to tell him that they were actually little girls' pajamas, and instead added a striped jersey set into the cart as well.

_This is way too much stuff, _Burt scolded himself, _especially for a kid that's not going to stick around much longer. _But Kurt was still hugging the stuffed rabbit tightly and he relented. Better to send Kurt back home with new things instead of a belt.

He loaded the shopping bags into the back of the cab while Kurt climbed into his seat, still clutching his stuffed rabbit. The child was beginning to droop a little, and Burt gently patted his knee as he pulled out of the parking space.

"You can take a nap if you want to," Burt said. "We've got one more stop, and then we're going home, all right?"

Kurt nodded, and as soon as he was granted permission he drooped into a light sleep. He dozed fitfully, his thin little arms slumping at his sides. When the truck rattled over potholes or bumps he would jerk awake, staring frantically at his surroundings before settling back and closing his eyes so the cycle could repeat again.

Burt parked outside of Kroger and patted Kurt's knee. "Wake up, kiddo, we're at the grocery store," he said. "Come on, little guy."

Kurt started awake, staring up at him with his immense blue eyes. Burt unbuckled his seatbelt and lifted him out to the pavement. "Leave your big bunny here but you can bring the little one," he said. Kurt reluctantly set the big stuffed rabbit down and held tight to the little one. He tripped over an untied shoelace, and without thinking Burt took him by the hand.

Kurt's little fingers felt thin and fragile in his. "You still tired?" he asked. Kurt nodded. "You can ride in the cart if you want." Sure, eight was probably too big to ride, but he was so tiny and he looked so sleepy.

He picked Kurt up and set him down in the cart. Kurt blinked sleepily, still squeezing his tiny toy rabbit. "Don't worry, we won't be here long," Burt promised him.

He walked up and down the aisles, tossing random items into the cart that he thought might be good- whole milk, bright red apples, whole grain crackers, canned soup. Hopefully he could get the kid to eat something.

He navigated the grocery store as quickly as he could as Kurt slept in the shopping cart, his chin tipping towards his chest. Once his groceries were paid for he loaded both the shopping bags and the snoozing child into the cab and headed towards home, switching off the radio to keep from waking Kurt.

The little boy was still fast asleep when they reached home. Burt unbuckled him from the front seat and gathered him into his arms. Kurt slept hard, his thin cheek squishing into Burt's shoulder. He carried him into the house and set him down carefully on the couch, draping a blanket over him. Sammy loped up to them in excitement, letting out a joyful bark of greeting. Burt shushed him quickly, but Kurt didn't wake up.

He brought in the shopping bags, stashing the groceries in the kitchen and Kurt's new belongings in his room. Kurt still slept soundly; Sammy had bounded onto the couch and curled up over his little feet.

The doorbell startled the entire household. Kurt's eyes flew open and he let out a frightened yelp; Sammy sat up and barked. "It's just the doorbell, I've got it," Burt said. "Calm down, you two."

He opened the door to find the nice nurse from earlier standing on the stoop. A lanky boy about nine or ten years old stood behind her with a large tote bag slung over his shoulder. "I'm sorry for showing up so abruptly, but I thought it would be nice if I came sooner rather than later," she apologized.

"No, no, it's fine," Burt said, holding the door open to usher her in. "Carolyn, right?"

"Carole," she said. "Carole Hudson. This is my son, Finn. Finn, honey, say hello."

"Nice to meet you," Finn mumbled, holding out his hand. Burt shook it.

"Come on in," Burt said. "Kurt's in the living room. He took a nap. Is that normal?"

"For a child with his poor health, it's one of the best things for him," Carole said. She beckoned to her son. "Finn helped me pick out some clothes for him. I didn't know what he had, so I just brought what I thought would fit."

Kurt sat up as Carole walked in, ducking behind Sammy. Carole smiled. "Hi, sweetheart," she said. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you," Kurt whispered.

"My son Finn and I brought you some new clothes," Carole said. "I thought you might like that."

He smiled shyly at her, still hiding behind Sammy. It seemed like he was pretending Finn wasn't there. "Thank you," he said meekly. "I'm not s'posed to take charity, though."

"It's not charity, honey, it's a gift," Carole said. She took the tote bag and began unpacking the clothing items- shirts, pants, shorts, hoodies. Kurt's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Finn grows so fast he barely wore any of these things. They're all practically new."

"Yeah, Mom says I grow like a weed," Finn chimed in.

Kurt reached out tentatively to touch a plaid button up shirt. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome, sweetie," Carole said. She glanced up at Burt. "He's a little pale. Has he had dinner yet?"

"He's been too scared about puking again, so he won't eat," Burt said.

"Oh, honey, you need to eat," Carole scolded. Kurt shrank visibly back into the pillows, sinking into his gray sweater. "Mr. Hummel, would you mind if I made something for him? I don't want to be presumptuous…"

"Not at all," Burt said hastily. "You can call me Burt, by the way."

She smiled and got up from the couch. "Finn, why don't you keep Kurt company?" she suggested.

Burt planted himself between the kitchen and the living room, keeping an eye on the two boys while staying available to answer Carole's questions about the kitchen. The children weren't really talking; Finn had turned on the television and flipped to a kid's show. He perched on the armchair and explained the plot quietly to Kurt, who watched with wide eyes.

The house filled with a rich, delicious smell, and before long Carole was walking out of the kitchen with a full bowl of soup. "I always make this when Finn doesn't feel well," she told Kurt, setting the bowl on the end table beside him. "It'll be easy on your stomach. But you tell Mister Burt if you feel sick again, okay?"

Kurt nodded, dipping his spoon into the soup hesitantly. Carole turned to Burt. "I'm sorry I didn't make enough for everybody," she said.

"No, no, that's fine," Burt said. "I'm just glad he's eating something at all."

Carole touched the back of her hand to Kurt's forehead. "His skin feels clammy," she said. "Put him to bed after this. And did you get the prescription?"

"Oh, no, I forgot," Burt said. "I'll call it in and pick it up in the morning."

"Have him take baths and put the antiseptic on afterwards," Carole said. "He'll feel better soon. But don't hesitate to call with any concerns."

"You don't have to do this," Burt said.

Carole smiled at him. "This single parenting thing isn't easy," she said. "Trust me. I've been at it for almost ten years. You've only done it for a few days, and you don't exactly have the easiest child to take care of. I'm happy to help." She beckoned to her son. "Finn, honey, let's leave Kurt to rest. He needs to finish his dinner."

Finn slid off the side of the couch. "Bye," he said. "See you in school, I guess."

"Bye," Kurt whispered.

Carole ushered Finn out of the door with one last wave. Burt bade them goodbye and shut the door. He glanced back to see Kurt still eating his soup, eyes glued to the brightly colored show on television. His tense shoulders relaxed a little.

He poured the rest of the soup Carole had made into a large Tupperware container and stuck it in the fridge as soon as it was cool. When he peeked back in the living room, the bowl was empty and Kurt was beginning to droop into sleep. Burt smiled and pried the bowl out of his limp hand. "Go upstairs and get ready for bed, kiddo," he said.

"Can I take Bun?" Kurt protested in a high sleepy voice.

"Go, go, take Bun," Burt said. "Just go upstairs."

He rinsed off Kurt's dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher, then headed up the stairs with Sammy at his heels. The little boy had changed out of his sweater and shorts, and was staring in dismay at the package of pull-ups. "I'm not a baby!" he protested..

Burt steeled himself for the argument. "I know," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "But you wet the bed last night, kiddo. Miss Carole said that happens sometimes with kids that…kids that have gone through hard things."

Kurt looked entirely crestfallen. "But I don't want to," he said.

"You gotta put them on," Burt said, a stern note creeping into his voice. Without another word Kurt changed out of his clothes and pulled on his night things. The polka dot pajamas were a little too big for him, but he'd probably grow into them.

Burt cleared his throat, relieved to have that fight over with even though he was startled by how quickly Kurt obeyed when he sounded even the faintest bit close to angry. "Are you going to sleep in the bed tonight?" he asked.

"Bed's for dead people," Kurt whispered. "Am I going to die?"

"No, no, sleeping in a bed isn't for dead people," Burt said, startled. "You're just a kid, and little kids deserve to sleep in beds." He pulled the blankets and sheets back and patted the mattress. "Come on, get settled."

Kurt climbed into the bed and slid under the sheets, staring skeptically at Burt. "Don't look at me like that," he said. He pulled the blankets up this his shoulders and handed him his stuffed rabbit. "Goodnight, Kurt."

He headed towards the door and reached for the lightswitch when an idea struck him. "You want the door open or closed?" he asked.

Kurt relaxed. "Open, please," he said.

Burt turned off the lights and left the door open a crack so the light from the hallway could filter into the dark room. Kurt looked tiny in the narrow twin bed, his rabbit tucked under his arm, and Burt left him to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

klajfkldsjflsjflkjdklf. Someone send me a baby Kurt to cuddle, please.

As much as it hurts my heart to make wee little Kurt suffer, I'm really having fun writing Burt. He loves this sweet little boy and he doesn't even realize it yet. You can just tell he loves him, even if he doesn't know what to do with him.

And Blaaaaaaine. Sweet little Blaine. I think some puppy love needs to happen.

And also...Kurt and his Bun. kasdjflkd. My ovaries hurt. Someone give me a baby, please.

Also, the angst level was up and down in this chapter...the same holds true with the next.

ANGST AND CUDDLES FOR EVERYONE.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt tapped Kurt's bedroom door open. It was eight o'clock, and he really ought to get the kid up. But he paused in the doorway instead.<p>

Kurt was fast asleep, completely dead to the world. He was curled up on his stomach with the blankets pulled up to his waist, and he shifted in his sleep like he was trying burrow deeper under them. One small thumb was tucked in his mouth and his index finger rested against the side of his little nose. His new stuffed rabbit was abandoned on the floor, but his free hand twitched in sleep, as if he was searching for the soft comforting plush.

Burt bit back a sigh, picked up the rabbit, and tucked it under Kurt's thin arm. He pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, but he still shivered. Burt crossed over to the closet and tugged the doors open carefully, trying not to wake him.

When Mollie had been alive, she had made it sort of a catch-all room. Her piano, their clunky desktop computer, and his books of car manuals were all stowed there. The twin bed had been given to them by neighbors moving away, and their winter clothes and blankets were stored in the closet. They had hoped to turn it into a nursery when they eventually started a family. No such luck.

Burt rummaged through the top shelves and pulled out a soft blue blanket. Mollie had made it when…well, it didn't matter anymore.

He shook the wrinkles out of the blanket and draped it over Kurt. The child's shivering stilled and he cuddled underneath the warm layers, his bunny still snuggled under his arm. When he was sure that the little boy was warm and comfortable, he tiptoed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He headed down the stairs to make himself a cup of coffee and read the newspaper. It was Sunday, and he sort of wondered if he was supposed to take the kid to church or something. He sort of had the feeling that Kurt's mother expected him to take him.

_Yeah, _Burt thought to himself. _I'm just gonna let him sleep._

It was nearly ten o'clock when he heard little footsteps racing down the stairs. Burt glanced up. "Morning," he said.

"I'm sorry!" Kurt said, his narrow shoulders heaving. "I'm sorry, Mister Burt, I didn't mean to. I didn't, I promise I didn't."

Burt set the newspaper down. "You didn't mean to what?" he asked, perplexed.

"I was s'posed to get up," Kurt said desperately. "I didn't mean to sleep late!"

Burt leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Kurt flinched. "I let you sleep late," Burt said firmly. "You're tired and you aren't feeling good. You're not in trouble."

"But…it's Sunday and I have to go to mass," Kurt pleaded desperately. "Mommy will be mad. I haven't m'morized anything, and I didn't go to mass, and…and…"

Burt knew the beginnings of a meltdown when he saw them. He strode over, picked Kurt up, and set him down on a chair at the kitchen table. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked.

Kurt was on the verge of tears. "But…but I…"

"Cereal?" Burt asked. "I got some of that honey bunches stuff at the store yesterday. Figured you might like something sweeter than Cheerios, but I'm not getting you any of that Trix crap."

Kurt struggled to stay calm. "I don't…I don't think I…" he wheezed, his small hands gripping the sides of his chair.

Burt knelt beside him. "Kiddo, I want you to take a nice deep breath," he said, keeping his voice firm but gentle. "Keep doing it till you calm down. Then you're going to eat breakfast. Understand?"

Kurt nodded, pressing his lips together. Burt patted his shoulder, careful of the bruises that he knew lingered there, and walked over the cabinet. He assembled Kurt's breakfast, pouring milk and cereal into a bowl and setting out a glass of juice, and by the time he brought it over to the table the child was considerably calmer. "Go on, eat it," he said.

Kurt timidly obeyed. Burt picked up the jar of gummy children's vitamins from the counter and tipped on into his hand. "You're gonna start taking these in the mornings," he said. "Open your mouth."

Kurt opened his mouth like a little baby bird and Burt popped the vitamin in. "Chew," he said. "It's a vitamin. It's going to make you healthier."

He sat down and turned back to his newspaper and coffee. Kurt ate slowly, the cereal crunching between his little teeth. He was still more bothered than he cared to admit by Kurt's panic. A child shouldn't be that scared to miss church, or to sleep late in the morning.

Kurt set his spoon down in his bowl. "If you're done, rinse your bowl out and put it by the sink," Burt said without looking up. Kurt slid off the chair and rose up on his toes, stretching to reach the faucet. His sleeve fell back, and Burt glanced up to see the white bandages still wrapped around his skinny arm. He set his paper aside. "Let's go get you cleaned up, okay? I'll take a look at your…just come on."

Kurt followed him upstairs to the bathroom. Even just climbing the stairs left the little boy winded and out of breath, leaning heavily on the banister. Burt silently walked past him, turned on the bathroom lights, and started filling the bathtub. "Take your shirt off," he said.

Kurt obeyed, setting it aside. Burt gingerly unwound the spirals of white gauze. The bruises were still dark, but the raw red sores were already beginning to look a little better. "Come on, get in the tub," he said.

Kurt tugged down his pajama pants. "Any accidents last night?" Burt asked. Kurt's cheeks flushed red. "It's fine. We were prepared for that." He helped the little boy into the bathtub. "You think you got this on your own?" Kurt nodded, and Burt patted him on the shoulder. "Take your time and call me if you need me."

He went into the room where Kurt had been sleeping. The child's new clothes were folded in neat piles on the floor, sorted by shirts, pants, and jackets. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get him a dresser or something. There was probably one in the basement.

Kurt had made the bed, the sheets only slightly crooked. The soft blue blanket draped over the top of the old faded comforter, and the stuffed rabbit sat up on the pillow, its oversized head flopping forward. Burt propped it back up.

The cluttered room was painfully clean. Kurt must've tidied things up before he came downstairs. He was probably scared of being punished if he had left a mess.

Burt gritted his teeth. He wanted Kurt to make a mess. He wanted the kid to run around the house shrieking, and to whine for toys, and to lie around watching cartoons when he should be doing chores. He just wanted the child to act like a normal kid, not a scared little shell of himself. It wasn't fair.

He heard the bathtub start to drain. "You done?" he called, walking towards the bathroom. He tapped the door open to see Kurt struggling into his clothes. "Wait, wait, wait. We've got to fix up your bruises again."

Burt sat down on the edge of the tub and beckoned the little boy forward. It was almost painful to look at Kurt. He was so scrawny, and the bruises looked black against his pale skin.

Burt smoothed the cream over Kurt's tiny body, trying to keep his hands as gentle as possible. He wished he could just call that nice nurse again, have her take care of Kurt instead. But there wasn't a choice, so he just did his best to make his rough hands, used to working on engines and yardwork equipment, stay soft against the child's fragile skin.

He wrapped a fresh roll of gauze over the worst of Kurt's injuries. Kurt stayed silent, but Burt caught him digging his teeth into his bottom lip in an effort not to cry. "There you go," Burt said. "Go finish getting dressed. You can watch cartoons or something if you want."

He walked back downstairs to clean up their breakfast dishes. Kurt followed a little while later, dressed in long sleeves and long pants. Finn Hudson's secondhand clothes were still too big for him, but it was better than that worn-out sweater and the stupid shorts. He had his rabbit tucked under his arm, and he settled down quietly on the couch, his legs dangling above the floor. The TV was still quiet, so Burt silently walked over and switched it on. "I gave you permission," he said. "It's okay. You're not gong to get in trouble."

Kurt just looked up at him with solemn blue eyes. Burt suppressed a sigh and headed back into the kitchen. Sammy trotted up to him with a happy bark. "Hey, bud," Burt said, ruffling the dog's floppy golden ears. "You wanna go out for a walk soon? Yeah?"

Sammy barked in approval. Burt patted his head, glancing back at the little boy sitting silently in the living room. Maybe some exercise and sunshine could do Kurt some good. It was an unusually warm day for March in Ohio- he could always put Sammy on the leash and take both the dog and the kid for a walk around the neighborhood.

Kurt sat completely still on the couch, but his thumb was tucked in his mouth again. Burt wasn't even entirely sure that he was actually watching the TV. His face was pinched and anxious.

"Hey, kiddo," Burt called. Kurt jumped, his thumb dropping from his mouth, and he stared up in horror. Burt took a deep breath, crossed over to him, and knelt by the edge of the couch.

"Hey, kiddo," he said again, this time making sure to keep his voice soft and measured. "How would you like to go to the park today?"

The thumb began to wend its way back towards his mouth. "Parks are dirty," Kurt said.

"Your mom tell you that?" Burt asked. Kurt didn't answer. "Parks are fun. Sammy needs to go on a walk, and I can't leave you here on your own."

"Yes, you can," Kurt said quietly. His thumb was all the way in his mouth. "Mommy does, all the time."

Burt started to argue, but it was probably useless to even try. "Do you want to go to the park?" he asked again.

"It's Sunday," Kurt objected. "I can't play on Sunday. It's bad."

Burt tugged the child's thumb out of his mouth. "Forget about your mom," he said. "Do _you _want to go to the park?"

Kurt hesitated, then gave one tiny nod. Burt patted his knee. "Go get your old shoes on, and get a hoodie," he said. "We'll go as soon you're ready."

Kurt slid off the couch and padded up the stairs, still clutching his rabbit. Burt pulled his shoes on and whistled for Sammy, who bounded up to him joyously. "You be gentle with the kid," he mumbled as he hooked the leash onto Sammy's collar. "Understand me?" Sammy barked happily.

Kurt peeked into the living room. His black sneakers were laced clumsily on his small feet and he'd pulled a red zipup hoodie on over his checked shirt. "Ready?" Burt asked. Kurt nodded. Burt noticed he was clutching the tiny bunny toy in his hand. "Come on, let's go."

There was a park just a few blocks away, close enough to walk, but it wasn't a very nice one. It was small, and the playground equipment was old and rusted. There was a larger, nicer park about fifteen minutes away, and it was worth it to load the dog and the child into the car and drive over there.

Kurt didn't talk on the drive over. He peeked out the window in trepidation, occasionally scrunching his nose up when Sammy waved his tail over his face in excitement. Burt turned on the radio to allay the oppressive silence. Kurt perked up a little at that. He seemed to like music, if he guessed right

The park was crowded for a sunny weekend afternoon; plenty of parents had brought their kids to spend the day on the playground. Burt parked near a row of picnic tables and opened the passenger door so Sammy could climb out. "Go play," he told Kurt. He disentangled Sammy's leash and heaved the dog out of the truck, only to turn around and find Kurt still standing by the door, staring up at him uncertainly. "Go on, go play. I'll be right over there."

Kurt backed away slowly towards the playground equipment. Burt swore under his breath and held onto the leash as Sammy tried to drag him towards the expanse of green grass by the playscape.

"Mr. Hummel?"

He glanced up to see the nurse from the clinic smiling at him. "Uh…Carole," he said. "Hi."

"What brings you here?" she asked, smiling brightly. She was dressed in a sweater and jeans instead of scrubs, and she held a book in her hand. "Taking Kurt out to play?"

"Trying to," he said. "I figured running around in the sun might be good for him. Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"Is it good for him?" Burt asked, feeling a little stupid.

"It's great," Carole reassured him. "He needs to get some strength back in those skinny little bird legs of his."

Burt glanced towards the playground. Kurt stood uncertainly at the outskirts, watching all of the other kids play. "If he'll actually do something," he said.

"He's probably just a little overwhelmed," Carole said. She plunged two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. "Finn! Finn Hudson!"

A tousled brown head popped up from behind the jungle gym and Carole waved him over. "Honey, Mr. Hummel brought Kurt over to play, but I think he's a little shy," she said. "Would it be all right if he played with you?"

"Uh-huh," Finn said. Carole smiled and squeezed his shoulder before he ran off to go talk to Kurt. Burt watched them carefully, arms folded across his chest. Finn said something and Kurt shook his head. A little redheaded girl skipped over to them and tugged on Finn's sleeve; Finn pointed at Kurt. The little girl smiled brightly, took Kurt by the hand, and dragged him over to the swings.

Carole laughed. "That's Finn's little friend Lucy," she said. "She's a sweetheart. You can trust Kurt with her." Burt didn't realize that he was glaring until Carole patted his arm. "Really, Mr. Hummel, Kurt's going to be fine."

Burt sighed. "I don't know what to do about this whole…little kid thing," he said. "Especially with him."

Carole sat down at a nearby picnic table in clear view of the playground and set her book aside. "He just needs some time and attention," she said. "Do you know how long he'll be with you?"

"No clue," Burt said, sitting down beside her. "His mother's sick and can't take care of him."

"Do you think it's the mother who's abusing him?" Carole asked quietly.

Burt shrugged. "No clue," he said. "The note's just signed 'Mrs. Dinsmore.' I don't know who the hell that is. Could be his mom, or a neighbor lady, or a grandmother…" He didn't want to admit that a mother had the capability to beat a child. Not like that.

His voice trailed off as a redheaded woman pushing a stroller walked over to them. "Carole, hi," she said pleasantly. "Thanks for keeping an eye on Lu and the boys while I changed this one."

"Oh, no problem," Carole said. "Mr. Hummel, this is Annie Trevelyan, Lucy's mother. Annie, this is Mr. Hummel."

Burt shook Annie's hand. "You can call me Burt," he said, casting a glance at Carole, who smiled at him.

"Burt has a little foster son that he's taking care of," Carole explained.

Annie took her youngest child out of the stroller and sat down on the bench with the baby on her knees. "Is he the little one playing with Lu and Finn?" she asked. "He's darling. How old is he? Six?"

"He'll be eight in a few weeks," Burt said. "He just, uh…looks a lot younger."

"He's so tiny," Annie said. "Are you enrolling him school?"

"I don't know how long I'm keeping him, so yeah, I guess," Burt said. "Probably just put him in Roosevelt Elementary. It's closest."

Annie smiled. "Then I'll be seeing a lot of Kurt," she said. "My husband is the principal at Roosevelt, and I teach music."

"You're gonna have a time with him," Burt warned. "He's real skittish. And he, uh…he says he can't read or write yet."

Annie frowned. "But if he's nearly eight, he should be in second grade," she said. "Second graders ought to be able to read and write."

"Kurt is sort of a…special situation," Carole said.

"We might have to put him in a lower grade, then," Annie mused. She patted Burt's arm. "We'll take care of it when you bring him in tomorrow. And at least he's making some friends before he gets there."

Burt frowned at the playground, keeping a close eye on Kurt. "I hope he makes friends," he said.

* * *

><p>Kurt stared at the playground. Kids ran around shrieking, kicking up rocks. He flinched. <em>Mommy wouldn't like this<em>, he thought. _It's too noisy. _He should've told Mister Burt he couldn't go to the park. He didn't know why he said yes.

"Hey!"

He jumped. The kid from yesterday- Flynn, or something- was jogging across the playground towards him, grinning. There was a tooth missing in his smile. "Hi, Kurt!" he said cheerfully. "D'you wanna play?"

Kurt shrank back, shaking his head. "I'll get dirty," he said.

Finn frowned. "But…it's fun," he said, perplexed.

A pretty little girl with bright red hair skipped over to Finn and tugged on his sleeve. "Finn, we were playing!" she said.

Finn pointed at Kurt. "That's Kurt," he said. "We have to play with him."

The little girl smiled. "Okay," she said, taking Kurt by the hand. "I'm Lucy. Let's go play." Kurt stumbled over his shoes in an effort to keep up with her. Finn trotted along behind them. "Let's play house. I can be the mommy, and Finn can be the daddy, and you can be the baby, okay?"

Kurt went along with them, bemused. Apparently this was how the kids usually played- Lucy came up with the ideas and Finn went along with it. They played house, and pioneers, and Little Mermaid, running all over the playground. Lucy had been shocked when he admitted he didn't know what the Little Mermaid was; she promised to let him borrow it. Whatever "it" was. She said it was a movie.

Kurt's small legs were sore after all that running around. He lagged behind as they darted towards the swings, his ribs aching as he wheezed. He knew he had to keep up, but he couldn't go any faster.

"Can't you keep up?"

"Lookit how slow he is."

"Poor little baby, can't keep up with the big kids."

Kurt glanced over his shoulder. A couple of older boys were laughing at him from their vantage point on the fence. He blinked. One of them jumped down. "Aw, look at him, he's gonna cry," he teased.

"Yeah, or wet his pants."

"Aw, can't even run."

Kurt dropped his head. It always started like this. First the mean things, then getting smacked around a little, then…

He jumped as something warm and sturdy pressed against his legs. His tiny fingers tangled numbly in Sammy's thick fur as the dog barked a warning at the older kids. "Sammy, what was that for, you crazy…Kurt?"

He looked up. Mister Burt loomed over him. He was scowling again, but not at him, at the older kids. "Are you picking on him?" he demanded.

"No, mister, we were just-"

Kurt pressed himself behind Mister Burt's legs as he yelled at the big kids. Sammy whined and kept close, licking at his hand. Without thinking, Kurt tangled his fingers in the hem of Mister Burt's flannel shirt.

"…next time you want to pick on somebody, trying picking on somebody your own size, not a little kid," Mister Burt snapped. He picked up Sammy's leash and held out his hand. "Come on, kiddo."

Tentatively Kurt placed his hand in Mister Burt's and allowed himself to be led off the playground. Sammy bounded happily onto the nearby walking trail, the altercation already forgotten in his doggy mind. "We're just gonna take a little walk," Mister Burt said gruffly. He still held onto Kurt's hand; Kurt wasn't sure if he was supposed to let go.

Mister Burt didn't seem angry anymore, though. He just seemed like he was thinking. Kurt picked up his pace to keep with him, his sneakers sliding around on his narrow feet. Mister Burt cleared his throat. "Why didn't you stand up for yourself?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged.

"If somebody's being mean to you, you're allowed to tell them to stop," Mister Burt said, tugging on Sammy's leash as he stated to veer off the path. "And if somebody's hurting you…you get away. Understand? If somebody ever hurts you, you need to run. Find somebody to help you."

Kurt only half-heard him, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to keep up. Mister Burt sighed and slowed his pace. "Dammit, kiddo, why didn't you tell me you couldn't keep up?" he said.

"I'm sorry," Kurt panted.

Mister Burt sighed again and squeezed his hand. "You're gonna be okay," he said. "And you're gonna have a good time at school tomorrow. Finn and Lucy will be there. You like them, right?"

Kurt nodded. He did like them. They probably didn't like him, though.

Mister Burt gave him a little pat on the back as they rounded the curve of the walking path and came back in view of the playground. "You go play," he said. "You come find me when you're tired and ready to come home, okay?"

Kurt nodded and trooped back towards Finn and Lucy, who were playing on the swings. They were talking to another boy who perched on the crossbar of the swings. Kurt paused.

The dark-haired boy perked up when he noticed Kurt. "It _is _you!" he exclaimed, jumping down and running over to him. Kurt jumped as the boy threw his arms happily around his neck. "Hi! Do you remember me?"

Kurt squirmed out of the overenthusiastic embrace. "Blaine," he said shyly.

Blaine beamed. "See, Lucy, he remembers me!" he said. He grabbed Kurt's hand. "I wanna play airplane! I wanna be the pilot!"

"I wanna be the guy who drives the suitcase train!" Finn said, jumping from his swing and landing in the gravel with a noisy crunch. Kurt flinched.

"Kurt, you can be the nice man who gives everybody little cups of Sprite!" Lucy said. She skidded to a stop on the swing and grabbed his other hand. "I'm gonna be the passenger lady."

Kurt allowed them to tug him into their game. He was still tremendously confused, but at least they wanted to play with him. Besides, it was nice to have Blaine and Lucy holding his hands.

* * *

><p>Annie checked her watch. "I'd better get the kids home and get dinner started," she said. "Lucy! Come here, honey!"<p>

"Mommy, we were playing," Lucy objected from her vantage point at the top of the slide. "I'm the princess, and Finn was gonna rescue me from the dragons."

"Rawr!" Blaine said happily, clambering up and down the ladder. Kurt hid a giggle behind his hand. Burt sat back, grinning in satisfaction. If he could get a giggle out of the kid, then the day had been a huge success.

"Well, tell Finn to rescue you quick, because he has to come home too," Carole called.

Annie buckled the sleeping baby into the stroller. "Burt, it was so nice to meet you," she said. "I'll tell Phillip about Kurt. Hopefully he can pull some strings. Maybe with some extra tutoring we can get Kurt into the second grade."

"I hope so," Burt said. "Thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it," Annie smiled. "Lucy, honey, we need to go! We have to get Daddy and your big brothers from the football field."

"Coming, Mommy!" Carole stood up. "I hope Kurt's first day goes smoothly tomorrow," she said.

"Me too," Burt said. He looked across the playground. Kurt was sitting on the bottom rung of the ladder, gazing up at Blaine. "Glad he knows a few kids already."

Lucy ran over to her mother. "Finn rescued me from the dragons, Mommy," he said breathlessly as she threw her arms around her waist.

Annie laughed and kissed the top of her head. "I'm very glad, honey," she said. "Now say goodbye to your friends. You'll see them at school tomorrow."

Lucy waved goodbye as she and her mother walked away, one little hand pushing at the handle of the stroller. Finn and Kurt headed over to the picnic table, Blaine trailing behind them. "Where're you going?" he asked, forlorn.

"Home," Burt said. "It's dinner time, and Kurt needs to go to sleep." He frowned and briefly touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "You feeling all right?" Kurt shrugged.

Carole placed her on Kurt's forehead. "He's a little warm," she said. She hugged the little boy around the shoulders. "Some dinner and a good night's sleep, and I think he'll be fine."

"But…I'm not going home yet," Blaine said. He scratched the back of his knee. "Can't Kurt stay and play?"

Sammy yipped and nosed at Kurt's hip. "Nope," Burt said. "But you'll see him at school. Kurt, say goodbye."

Kurt opened and closed his hand in a wave. "Bye, Blaine," he said, but a huge yawn cut him off. Burt patted his shoulder and prodded him towards the truck.

Kurt had clearly worn himself out on the playground. He napped a little in the car on the way home, he nearly dozed off in the bowl of leftover soup Burt reheated for his dinner, and when Burt went upstairs to see if he was in bed yet, he found Kurt asleep on the floor, half in his pajamas and half in his day clothes.

"Wake up, kiddo," Burt coaxed, giving him a gentle shake. "You're not in bed yet."

Kurt roused immediately and blinked up at him. Burt chuckled softly and pulled him to his feet. "You're just worn out, aren't you," he said. He tugged Kurt's shirt off and helped him into his pajama top, but he didn't miss it when Kurt winced at a particularly sort spot on his upper arm. "You get in bed and get comfy. I'll be right back."

He went into the bathroom and popped two chewable children's aspirins into his hand. "You should take these," he said, taking Kurt's hand and placing the tablets in his palm.

"What is it?" he asked, curious.

"Medicine," Burt said. "It'll make you feel better." Kurt frowned at it, as if he was still not entirely sure what it was. "Just stick it in your mouth and chew."

Kurt obeyed, screwing up his face at the artificial grape taste.. Burt lifted the covers so he could lie down. "You go right to sleep, okay?" he said as he tucked the little boy in snugly. "It's a big day tomorrow."

Kurt was already blinking sleepily. Burt tucked the rabbit into the crook of his arm; Kurt closed his eyes and stuck his thumb in his mouth as his tense little face relaxed. He hesitated. Gently he brushed a stray lock of hair away from the child's forehead and touched the tip of his finger to Kurt's little nose. "'Night, kiddo," he murmured.

He got up as quietly as he could, switched off the lights, and set the bedroom door so light could still shine in. Kurt was already fast asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Look! More sweet babies! And here's little Lucy to love on Kurt! I hope I'm not being overwhelming people with OCs...Francey probably won't be in this one, so that should probably help.

I had a bunch of people ask about two particular topics, so I should probably clear it up now!

Number one: Kurt isn't exactly in foster care. I made up a branch of foster care so that I wouldn't have to follow legalities, because this is definitely not completely legal. Kurt is in an emergency placement program- he wasn't taken away by CPS (though he probably should be...) and he's not up for adoption. Basically, he's in a program that supports single parents that might need someone else to care for their child for a while. Kurt's mother is sick (which will be explained at some point soon) and there's no one to care for him, so he was put in the care of the program to be placed with a family for a few days. So...yeah. I totally made it up because otherwise I wouldn't be able to get the story to work!

Number two: Carole did alert the authorities because of the severity of Kurt's abuse. But the emergency placement program is still fairly new, and the children in that program don't merit the same attention that children in the foster system require, so she made the call and basically got stuck in red tape.

So yeah! I hope that helps. I wasn't quite sure how to explain this in the body of the story...probably why I'm not a very good writer, I suppose. :P

But you got more of sweet baby Blaine and Burt falling in love with his sweet little foster son and Carole being awesome. (Maybe this'll turn into Barole...)

But yeah! I hope this met with your approval!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt pressed closer and closer to Burt's side as they walked towards the school. He looked tinier than usual in his oversized blue windbreaker, the hood pulled over his head. Burt reached for his hand as they reached the flight of broad concrete steps outside the front door; Kurt held on tightly as he navigated the puddles.<p>

He pushed the front door open and ushered the child inside. The hallways bustled with elementary students preparing for the beginning of the school day, their wet sneakers squeaking on the tile floors and their excited voices echoing. Burt felt the little boy press closer to him, latching his small hands onto the hem of his jacket. The crowd surged around them and Kurt let out a frightened little yelp, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Come on, you're fine," Burt said, but Kurt was frozen where he stood. Burt squeezed his cold little hand. "Keep walking, keep walking."

He half-dragged Kurt down the hallway to the administrative offices. Luckily it was quieter there and Kurt relaxed a little bit. "Can I help you?" the secretary inquired.

"Yeah, I've got to enroll my…" He glanced down at Kurt, searching for the proper term for the unusual circumstances. "Him. I gotta enroll him."

"Oh, are you Mr. Hummel?" the secretary said. "Mr. Trevelyan said he was expecting you. Hang on, let me tell him you're here."

Burt glanced down. Kurt clung to his pants leg, scanning the room with wide blue eyes. "Don't be so scared," Burt said, tugging the hood down and ruffling his damp brown hair. "You're gonna be just fine. I promise."

A pleasant older man in a suit and glasses walked up to them. "Mr. Hummel? I'm Phillip Trevelyan, the elementary principal," he said. Burt shook his hand. "My wife told me there were some special circumstances."

"That's putting it mildly," Burt said.

Mr. Trevelyan bent down to look at Kurt. "Hi, Kurt," he said. "I'm Mr. Trevelyan, Lucy's daddy." Kurt regarded him solemnly, still clinging to Burt. "Come on in."

Burt walked into the office and sat down in the chair opposite the principal's desk. Kurt sidled up to him, latching his fingers onto the armrest. "So you don't have any previous records for him?" Mr. Trevelyan asked.

"Nothing at all," Burt said. "The social worker told me his name and his age, said she'd check in, and left him with me. She didn't answer my calls, either."

"Kurt, can you tell me about your old school?" Mr. Trevelyan asked kindly. Kurt hid his face in Burt's arm.

"He told me he hasn't gone to school, his mom taught him," Burt said, patting the back of Kurt's head. "He, uh, he doesn't know how to read or write, though."

To his credit, the principal didn't seem daunted by that. "Well, I've already alerted our educational services department," he said. "We're going to have them take a look at Kurt, see how far behind he is. Depending on his abilities, we might put him in the second grade and supplement with tutoring sessions, or…"

"Or what?" Burt prompted.

"Or we'll start him in a younger grade," the principal said. "You never know, he might be able to catch up to his classmates in short order. He'll probably need some extra help at home keeping up with his homework."

"I'll do what I have to do," Burt said. "He's my obligation, I'd better take care of him."

The principal smiled. "Well, the assistant director will be here soon to take him to the tutoring center," he said. "Kurt, are you excited about starting school?"

Kurt whimpered, the first sound he'd made since entering the building, and Burt hugged an arm around his shoulders. "He gets a little skittish," he apologized.

"Well, the teachers in the tutoring center are great with the shy ones. Kurt'll be in good hands," Mr. Trevelyan reassured him.

Kurt hid his face in Burt's elbow. Burt sighed and picked him up, setting the little boy on his knees. "Listen, kiddo, you're going to be fine," he said. "It's just school. Nothing bad is going to happen. You're gonna go to class, and eat lunch, and play with your friends, and at three o'clock I'll be right here to take you home, okay?"

Kurt nodded, his face still pressed into Burt's arm. The door tapped open and a petite, round-cheeked young woman in a black dress poked her head in. "Mr. T? I'm here for Kurt," she said.

"All right, Kurt, she's going to take you to the tutoring center, okay?" Mr. Trevelyan said. "She's very nice."

"Hold on," Burt said, rummaging in his jacket pocket. He pulled the tiny toy rabbit out. "Will this help?"

Kurt's face lit up and he grabbed it eagerly. Burt slid the little boy off his knees. "All right, now. Go on."

Kurt edged closer to the girl. She smiled at him and held out her hand; Kurt went with her reluctantly, holding gingerly to her fingers and clutching the bunny rabbit. Burt waved, and they disappeared down the hall.

"If we have any concerns, we'll call you," Mr. Trevelyan said. "He might have trouble finishing out his first full day of school."

"I'll get him if he needs me," Burt said, standing up. "Thanks for helping him out."

"No problem," the principal said. He shook his hand. "We'll see you soon."

Burt nodded a goodbye, stuck his hands in his pockets, and headed out of the school. He drove to work and went through the motions of fixing cars and trying not to bite the heads off stupid customers who fancied themselves mechanics, but he was distracted. His mind kept wandering back to Kurt. He wondered how he was doing- if the teachers were patient, if the classes were too hard, if the other kids were picking on him. Periodically he glanced back towards the phone, wondering if the school would call. They never did.

At three o'clock he was at the elementary school, dodging minivans and SUVs as he jogged through the parking lot and up the front steps. He could see a forlorn little figure in a blue windbreaker pressed against the glass front doors, tiny snub nose smushed and small mouth turned down.

_Well, that doesn't bode well, _Burt thought.

He opened the door and Kurt darted past him. "Hey, hold up," he scolded. "Wait for me, wait for me. What's wrong?"

Kurt ran down the steps, climbed into the front seat of the truck, and slammed the door. By the time Burt got there he was buckled in, his arms folded and his chin tucked against his chest. Burt sighed and got into the driver's seat.

He waited until they were on the road before starting the conversation. "So," he said. "How's school?"

"Hate school."

"Why do you hate school?" Burt asked.

"…I'm not stupid."

Burt frowned. "You hate school because you're not stupid?" he said.

Kurt shrank into a smaller ball. "School thinks I'm stupid," he said.

"They put you in first grade," Burt guessed. Kurt kicked unhappily at the glove compartment. "C'mon, kiddo. It's not that bad."

"Mommy's right, I'm fucking stupid," Kurt murmured into his knees.

Burt nearly ran off the road. The truck jolted to a stop at the corner and he threw it in park. "What the hell did you just say?" he demanded.

Kurt pressed himself back against the door, staring up at Burt with terrified eyes. "My mommy…my mommy says that," he whimpered.

"Well, your mommy's wrong," Burt snapped. "Don't say stuff like that, you understand me?"

Kurt nodded, the color draining from his face. Burt shoved the car back in gear. _Who could say that to a kid? _he fumed. _He's a baby. How could his own mom talk to him like that?_

The rest of the drive was painfully silent. Kurt kept quiet, hunched over in the seat. At some point his thumb had wended its way back into his mouth, but his hood was pulled over his head. Burt pulled into the driveway and parked. "Come on," he said. "You want dinner?"

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder. Burt picked up the child's backpack and headed towards the house. He glanced back to see Kurt trailing far behind him, and he waited by the front door until Kurt dragged himself inside.

"Go…play for a while," Burt said. Kurt's shoulders drooped as he walked up the stairs. Burt gritted his teeth and headed towards the garage. There was an old lawnmower that needed to be repaired, and he just really needed to fix something.

He banged away at the lawnmower for a while, doing more damage than anything else. The pieces were dissembled across the cement floor and dried oil was caked under his nails, but some of the frustration drained away. He shoved the pieces away in an old milk crate and headed back into the kitchen, his work shoes clumping on the floor. The house was completely quiet; he wondered what Kurt was up to.

He stomped into the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator in search of something he could make for dinner that the kid might be able to eat. Finally he gave up and dug out some pasta from the pantry. Kids liked pasta, right?

It didn't take too long to wrestle dinner onto the table. "Kurt," he called, dumping the noodles into the strainer. "Dinner. Wash up and come down here."

He set the plates on the table. "Kurt! C'mon, kiddo, dinnertime."

The little boy finally peeked into the kitchen, his blue eyes bleary and red blanket lines creased across one thin cheek. His big stuffed rabbit was tucked under one arm. Burt grinned despite himself. "Have a nice nap?" he asked. Kurt just stared up at him. "Go on, sit."

Kurt slid into his chair. "I made spaghetti," Burt said. "You like that?" Kurt shrugged. Burt sat down across from him. "I can cut it up for you if you want."

Kurt picked up his fork and poked gingerly at his dinner. Burt shoveled pasta into his mouth as they ate in silence. He was halfway tempted to turn on the television, just to have some sound in the house.

When he was done and Kurt had eaten at least some of his dinner, Burt picked up Kurt's blue backpack and unzipped it, pulling out a shiny new folder and a reading textbook. "Here," he said. "You got homework?" Kurt nodded. "Get started. I'll help you if you get stuck."

He cleared the dishes, waiting for Kurt to push his half-eaten spaghetti to the side before picking it up, and plugged up the sink to start washing up. Every so often he glanced over at Kurt to check how he was doing. Clearly the reading wasn't going well. Kurt stared at the book in disgust, one small hand beginning to dig into his hair in frustration. Burt had just stuck the stockpot on the drying rack when he heard the tiny snap of pencil lead and Kurt's anxious little whimper.

He turned around just in time for his heart to sink in disappointment at the look on Kurt's little face- a mixture of despair, anxiety, and self-contempt. Burt glanced over his shoulder to look at the book. "The black cat, the sad black cat, the sad black cat's hat…" he read. "What the hell is this crap?"

Kurt looked up at him and blinked. Burt grimaced. "You know what? Sammy needs to go on a walk," he said. "You wanna go with me?"

Kurt paused, then nodded. "Get your shoes and your hoodie," Burt said. "I'll get his leash. Go on."

The child slid off the chair. Burt whistled for Sammy, who bounded up happily. "We're gonna put the kid back in a good mood, all right, boy?" he said, ruffling the dog's shaggy ears. Sammy yipped an agreement as Burt snapped the leash on.

Kurt peeked into the living room, his old worn-out sneakers tied badly and his hoodie sleeves falling over his hands. Burt beckoned him forward and zipped it up. "You warm enough?" he asked. "I don't think it's raining, but I don't want you to get cold."

"I'm fine, thank you," Kurt whispered.

Burt walked him up to the front door, ushered the child and the dog onto the stoop, and locked the door. He glanced down at the silent little boy. "Hey," he said. "Race Sammy to the gate."

Kurt looked up at him and blinked. "Why?" he said.

"He wants somebody to play with," Burt said. "On the count of three, run to the gate. I'll even let you get a head start."

Kurt sighed. "Okay," he said, planting his small feet and preparing to run for it.

Burt grinned. "One, two, three," he said. Kurt took off running. He was pigeon-toed, which made him sort of run like a duckling. It was pretty cute. Burt let go of Sammy's leash and gave him a little push; the eager dog bolted for the sidewalk.

The golden retriever easily outran the child, bounding up the mailbox and skidding to a stop. Kurt tripped over his own shoes and fell on the grass. Burt stifled a chuckle. "Didn't quite beat him, did you?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head, his shoulder slumped. Burt squatted down and tilted his chin up. "Mad 'cause you lost?" Kurt nodded. "Well, you just need practice. And you beat me, anyway." He stood up and held out his hand. "Come on."

Kurt latched onto his fingers. "I did beat you," he said, sounding a little cheerier than before.

Burt grinned. "You don't need to sound so happy about it," he said, giving the child's tiny hand a playful tug. "Come on, keep up."

They walked down the block, Kurt hanging onto Burt's hand. Sammy bounced around happily, barking in cheerful abandon, and rain feel in a featherlight drizzle. Burt glanced down at Kurt as they rounded the corner. "You wanna walk him?" he asked.

Kurt frowned. "If he starts running, won't he pull my arms off?" he questioned.

Burt laughed. "If he starts running, you let go of the leash," he said. "I'll catch him. Now, go on, put out your hand. Hold on tight."

Kurt tentatively closed his tiny fingers around the plastic handle of the leash. Sammy paused, looking back at the little boy, and started off down the sidewalk again, this time at a sedate trot, as if he sensed that running would be a bad idea. Kurt smiled tentatively, and Burt patted him on the shoulder.

They walked around the quiet neighborhood in comfortable, companionable silence. Burt kept his hand on Kurt's shoulder, feeling the quick heavy breaths trembling in his chest. Maybe he'd pushed him a little too far.

Burt waited till they were heading up the steps to the house before prying the leash out of Kurt's fingers. "You did good, buddy," he said. "Go on upstairs and get ready for bed."

Kurt blinked as Burt herded him into the foyer and tugged his hood off. His fine hair stuck up with static and his cheeks were rosy pink. "But my homework-"

"You're too tired right now," Burt said. "You go to bed now, and we'll worry about it in the morning. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Kurt said, quickly taking off his shoes, taking them in hand, and running for the stairs. Burt shook his head as he took off Sammy's leash and hung it up.

He packed up Kurt's homework- he'd finished most of it, but he guessed he was just frustrated and burned out. Poor kid. Burt slid the homework folder back in the little blue backpack, and an idea struck him.

"You ready for bed?" he called.

"Yes, Mister Burt."

Burt dropped the backpack by the door and headed up the stairs. Kurt was sitting cross-legged beside the bed, his stuffed rabbit on his lap, and looking tiny in his striped pajamas. "C'mon, into bed," he said, waving him up. Kurt scrambled to obey. Burt moved an old suitcase out of the way to take a better look at the bookcase in the corner. "Aha." He picked up a large cream colored volume and blew the dust off. "I knew Mollie had this."

Kurt tilted his head. "Who's Mollie" he inquired.

Burt paused. "Just…somebody," he said. "Scooch over." Kurt scooted over.

"You settled?"

Kurt nodded.

"Is Bun settled?"

Kurt nodded, smiling a little.

"Can you see the pictures all right?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said.

Burt cleared his throat and opened to the first page. "All children except one grow up," he read, slow and measured, his finger following under the words. "They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this."

He tried to speak clearly as he read aloud, occasionally pausing at an easy word for Kurt to sound it out. It was a painfully slow process, but Kurt seemed to be catching on, and it was a hell of a lot more interesting than that cat story in his reader.

"At first Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live among the fairies," Burt read. "There were odd-"

He paused. Kurt had cuddled up close into his side, peering at the page with interest and his thumb tucked in his mouth. The little boy looked up. "Stories," Kurt said, pointing to the page. "The next word is stories, Mister Burt."

"Yeah," Burt said. "It is." He wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders and pulled him closer to his side, then cleared his throat. "There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened."

He read for a while longer, giving Kurt more and more words to sound out, but the child's voice began to sound sleepy. Burt finished the first chapter and glanced down to see Kurt fast asleep with his head resting against his side, still sucking on his thumb. "You're worn out, aren't you, kiddo?" he murmured. He set the book aside on the floor and eased the little boy down, his soft chestnut hair spreading across the pillow. "There we go, kiddo. There we go."

He tucked the blankets around Kurt, pulling them up to his chin. "Have a good sleep," he said. "See you in the morning."

Kurt sighed in his sleep and rolled over onto his tummy, his thumb still in his mouth and one arm still draped around his rabbit. He looked so tiny and vulnerable and frail, and it made Burt's ribcage hurt for some inexplicable reason.

He bent over and kissed Kurt clumsily on the forehead. "Goodnight, little man," he murmured, and he left him to sleep with his bedroom door cracked open, just in case he need the light in the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I HOPE YOU ARE ALL SQUEEING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE ASLKDFJSKLDFJSDKL. BABY KURT.

This chapter was fun to write. Wee little Kurt _so _has Burt wrapped around his little finger, and neither of them know it yet.

And now you know part of the reason it was important to introduce Lucy! Her daddy is the principal. It's also important that her mommy is the elementary music teacher. And for everyone who's confused- Lucy is a character I've been writing for the past year. She was introduced in "Awesome and Delicious, This Time at Dalton" and also features in "You and I" and "Hard to Come By," among others. I'm sorry to all the people who thought she was little Quinn, and all the people who are mad I put in an OC! She just works out so nicely for the plans I have for this story.

Also, I work in the educational services department of a private school, so I thought I would put that into it. Kurt would definitely need tutoring to catch up. And the "sad black cat" story is really a story we use to test reading skills...

And Mollie's old copy of Peter Pan is the one illustrated by Scott Gustafson. It's so beautiful, and I can just see Mollie picking it out and adding it to her little collection, waiting for the day she could read it to her own little ones...but there never was a little one, and Burt let her collection of storybooks gather dust because he couldn't bear to give them away.

And with that, I leave you to sniffle a bit over that one.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hummel, when'd you get a kid?"<p>

Burt glanced back. Kurt was helping Jake with a tire change- "help" being a relative term. The little boy stood close by with his small hands clamped on the treads of the new tire, holding it in place like his life depended on it while Jake changed out the old one. Burt turned back around to the customer. "About three weeks ago," he said, filling out the paperwork. "You want the full check, or just the oil change?"

"Go ahead and do the full thing," Mr. Collins said after his wife nudged him "Where'd you get him?"

"Foster placement," Burt said shortly.

"He's a cutie," Mrs. Collins said, beaming at the child. "They're so sweet at that age."

Burt glanced back again. "Cute" wasn't really in his vocabulary, but yeah, it did seem to fit. Kurt's hair was ruffled up and his cheeks were pink, and he was dressed in overalls and a green tee shirt. Even with the fading bruises still wrapped around his narrow arms, Kurt was a handsome little kid. Burt didn't know how to say that, so he just grunted an agreement and handed the clipboard for Mr. Collins to sign.

They had fallen into a routine, he and Kurt. Three weeks had gone by since the social worker dumped him at the garage, and things had calmed down considerably. Kurt was still having trouble with wetting the bed and his stomach was still sensitive, but with eating a steady, healthy diet and taking Sammy on walks with Burt every night, he had started to lose that skinny hollow look and there was color in cheeks. School was still an uphill battle- Kurt hated being stuck in the first grade- but between daily tutoring sessions at school and Burt reading to him at night, he was already doing better. He was a bright kid, it turned out.

Burt waited for the Collins couple to leave before heading over to Kurt. "Jake, he being helpful?" he asked.

"Yup," Jake said. "Kurt's shapin' up to be a great mechanic."

Kurt looked up at Burt and beamed happily. There was a smear of motor oil across his nose and cheek. "I'm helping," he reported.

Burt ruffled his hair. "Yeah, I know," he said, laughing when Kurt scowled and immediately smoothed his hair down. "Hey, c'mere. I've got something for you to do."

Kurt followed him immediately, eager to please. Burt led him over to the disorganized storage shelves and pulled down a large battered cardboard box of small parts. "Okay, bud," he said, pulling down several empty coffee cans. "We've just been tossing stuff in here, so I need you to sort them out. Each type of piece goes in a different can, see?" He held up the pieces, showing him the difference between lugnuts and screws and washers. "Think you can do it?"

"Yes, sir," Kurt said solemnly, dropping down to kneel on the floor. He dug through the box, sorting through the pieces.

"Hey, Burt, wanna take a look at these brakes?" Jake called.

"Coming," Burt called back. He ruffled Kurt's hair again; the little boy was too absorbed in his work to notice. "What's the problem with this one?"

"She says the brakes are acting up," Jake reported, jabbing his thumb towards a green minivan and the rather harried-looking driver.

Burt paused and grinned. "Carole," he said.

"Oh, god, Burt," she said, startled. "I didn't even know you worked here."

His grin widened and he pointed at the sign over the door. "I own this place," he said.

She laughed, hiding her face in her hand. "Oh, god, I'm so embarrassed," she said. "I was just driving to pick up Finn from the Puckermans' house and my brakes, they just started making the worst noises. I thought I would feel better having somebody look at it before I got home."

"That's a good idea," Burt said. "Better safe than sorry."

She glanced around as Burt started to mess around with the car. "How's Kurt doing?" she asked.

"Pretty good," Burt said. "He's not liking first grade all that much, but his teacher said he's improving already."

"At least he gets to play with the other kids at recess and lunch," Carole said. "Finn says he's doing pretty well getting along with other kids."

"That's good," he said. "I told him to tell me if he was getting picked on, but I figure he wouldn't tell me even if he was." He popped the hood on the car. "He's here, if you want to talk to him yourself."

Carole smiled. "I'd like to at least say hi," she said.

Burt grinned and waved Kurt over. The little boy dropped the handful of lugnuts and bolts back in the box and ran over, wiping his small hands off on his overalls. "You wanna say hi to Miss Carole?" he asked.

Kurt edged a little closer to Burt. "Hi, Miss Carole," he said in a tiny voice.

Carole smiled and knelt down to his eye level. "Hi, sweetheart," she said. She smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "I think you've grown since the last time I saw you!" He smiled, hesitant and pleased. "Have you been feeling good?"

"Uh-huh," he said, digging his small fingers in the creases of Burt's jeans. "I'm good. I try to be good."

Burt saw the concern flicker briefly across Carole's face. He was accustomed to Kurt's strange little asides by now, but clearly Carole wasn't. "No, no, honey, I know you're good," she said. "But are you feeling good? Have you been sick lately?"

Kurt hid his face against Burt's hip. Burt patted his back. "He's getting stronger," he said. "Still tires out pretty fast and pukes at the drop of the hat, but he's better." He gently pushed Kurt towards Carole. "Kiddo, can you keep Miss Carole company while I take a look at her car?"

Unable to say no to an adult's request, Kurt shyly edged towards Carole. She took him by the hand and started chatting pleasantly with him about school as she walked towards the small waiting area near the office. Kurt still seemed a bit timid around her, but he obediently climbed onto the bench beside her and listened attentively to her one-sided conversation.

Burt went to work on the car, checking out the brake system. It took a while to find the source of the problem, but it didn't take too long to fix. "Your brake pad slipped," he called as he walked over to Carole. "It just needed to be adjusted."

He paused and bit back a grin. Kurt was practically sitting on Carole's lap, his blue eyes shining as he recounted the bedtime stories Burt had told him. "…and then, and then Wendy sewed his shadow back on," he said, clasping his hands in excitement. "I didn't know a shadow could get sewed."

"I didn't either," Carole said, smiling at the little boy. She looked up at Burt. "Kurt was telling me all about Peter Pan."

"Yeah, he really likes it," Burt said. "Your car's good to go. Just needed an adjustment."

"Oh, thank you," she said. "How much do I owe you?"

He waved off her attempts to get her wallet. "On the house," he said. "Kurt, say bye to Miss Carole and go back to your project, okay?"

"Okay," he said, scooting down from the bench. "Bye, Miss Carole."

"Bye, sweetheart," she said. "Oh, Burt, he's doing so well. He's gotten so verbal."

"Well, it comes and goes," he said. "Sometimes he can talk the hind leg off a mule, sometimes I can't get him to put two words together." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I've got a favor to ask of you."

"Oh, this is why the brake check was free," she teased.

"No, no, that's on the house either way," he said. He sat down beside her, glancing over to see if Kurt was occupied. "Listen, Kurt's birthday is on the seventeenth, and I was wondering…is there any way you could…you know, do some kind of birthday thing for him?"

"A party?" Carole guessed.

"I don't know, just something," Burt said. "I don't know the first thing about little kid stuff, but…I don't want him to turn eight and not have any way to remember it by, you know? Especially if he has to have his birthday with some strange old man instead of his family."

"You're not some strange old man to him," Carole said. "And definitely not old." She smiled. "I would love to plan something for Kurt. I know Annie will help. She says her little Lucy won't stop talking about how much she loves playing with Kurt. I might be able to ask Blaine's mother too."

"So you can do it?" Burt said, relieved.

"I would love to," she said. She patted his arm. "You leave everything to me. We'll just tell you when and where to show up with Kurt."

He grinned. "I really appreciate this, Carole," he said. "It'll mean a lot to him."

She stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Listen, I should probably let you know…I alerted the authorities about Kurt's abuse," she said. "It's part of my job. And honestly, I'm worried. If he has to go back to his family-"

"I know," Burt said. "I called his social worker. Left about a dozen messages. She hasn't answered." He shrugged. "Kurt's just an emergency placement. He's not even technically in the system. They're not too concerned about him."

"Do you have the contact information for his family?" Carole asked.

Burt shook his head. "Nothing at all," he said. "All I know is that his mom's sick and can't take care of him. Must be pretty bad if it's been three weeks and she hasn't asked for him back. And to tell you the truth, I don't think I want to send him back to her."

"I hope it all works out," Carole said. "Poor little thing. It's all just such a mess." She glanced up. "Have you thought about adopting him?"

"No, no, I wouldn't be able to," Burt said quickly. "I'm sure there's better families out there looking for a kid. Besides, I doubt he's up for adoption." He cleared his throat. "Thanks for planning that party for him, though. Just tell me how much to reimburse you. And you bring that van in whenever you need to. You're due for an oil change soon."

"I'll remember," Carole said. "Thanks so much, Burt." She waved at Kurt, who was too busy with his project to notice. "Bye, Kurt."

He paused and looked up long enough to wave. "Bye, Miss Carole," he said. Burt offered a short wave goodbye, and she got into her car to leave.

"Hey, Burt, you wanna take a look at this?" Jake called.

Burt crossed the garage and looked into the convertible's engine. "Shit, what did they do, dump acid in here?" he said. He rolled up his sleeves. "I'll take this one. Go take the Collins car."

"Sure thing."

"And check on Kurt, make sure he's still working," Burt called absently, his eyes focused on the engine and his mind already plotting out the steps to fix it.

He worked steadily and methodically, putting the engine back together. It was the sort of project that he could lose himself in. He liked cars. They didn't change. They were straightforward. They were fixable.

He finally dug his head out of the engine when Jake called him over to approve the Collins car repairs. Once he signed them off, he glanced back at Kurt on his way back to the convertible. He stopped.

The child was still busily at work, sifting through the different pieces, but he was working too fast- frenetic, almost. Burt frowned and walked over to him. "Hey, Kurt, how's it going?" he asked.

He froze. Kurt was shaking, biting down hard on his lower lip in an effort to keep from crying. His small hand was streaked with red. "Kurt, what's that?" Burt demanded.

Kurt kept working, taking one piece and dropping it in a can. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm working," he said, his voice wobbling.

"No, no, stop it," Burt said. He took Kurt's wrist and held it still. "Stop it. What the hell- oh, _Kurt._"

Blood oozed sluggishly from a long cut across Kurt's left hand. Burt cupped the tiny palm in his big rough hands. "Where'd this come from?" he said.

Kurt pointed at a shard of glass lying beside the cans. "I didn't know where to put it," he said in a small voice, his breath coming in harsh pants as he began to cry.

Burt closed his big hands over Kurt's. "Kiddo, why didn't you tell me you were bleeding?" he asked.

Kurt's face crumpled. "Mister Jake said I had to keep working or I'd be in trouble," he sobbed. "I don't want to be in trouble! I'm good! Please, I'm good!" He was getting paler and paler by the second, rocking back and forth on his knees, and he made a harsh hacking noise in the back of his throat.

"You gonna throw up?" Burt asked. Kurt shook his head, but he planted a hand over his mouth. Burt pulled him to his feet. "Go on, kiddo, go throw up."

He waited till Kurt had run out of earshot before turning around and storming over to Jake. "What the hell did you say to him?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Jake sputtered. "Just told him to keep working like you said."

"Did you tell him he'd be in trouble if he didn't?" Burt accused.

"Well, yeah, but I was just kidding…"

"You don't joke with a kid like that!" Burt said. "He doesn't know you're kidding. He took you for serious, Jake, and he was too scared to stop and tell me that he'd sliced his hand open."

Much to his credit, Jake looked completely dismayed. "Burt, I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"You talk to my kid like that again, you can head home early," Burt snapped. "Don't mess with his head like that."

He stomped back towards the small bathroom in the back just in time to see Kurt emerge, his face drained of color as he swayed on his feet. "Come here," Burt said, scooping him up in his arms. Kurt sagged against him, his injured hand tucked safely against his narrow chest. He carried Kurt into the office and set him down on the couch. "I'm gonna look at your hand. You lie down; I don't want you passing out on me."

He pulled down the first aid kit and coaxed Kurt to let him take a look at his injury. The child sucked in a deep shuddering breath as Burt cleaned out the cut with an antiseptic wipe, but he didn't say anything. "It's not as bad as it looks," he told Kurt. "It's shallow. You don't need stitches. But you're a pretty good bleeder, aren't you?"

Kurt watched with wide eyes as Burt smoothed on neosporin and wrapped his hand in a bandage. "There we go," he said. "You're all fixed." He sat back, elbows resting on his knees. "C'mon. We're going home. You wanna walk, or you wanna be carried?"

Kurt shrugged. Burt sighed and picked him up. "Let's go, buddy," he said, setting the child on his hip. "Time to go home and take a nap."

He carried Kurt to the truck and buckled him in the backseat; the little boy was already falling into a fitful sleep. Sure, he probably needed to stay and finish that engine, but he knew how Kurt was when he got highstrung like that. He needed his sleep. A rest on the couch with Sammy for company, a good dinner, and an early bedtime and he'd be fine.

They were nearly home when Burt caught the first signs of uneasiness. Kurt made a soft sound in his sleep and turned restlessly. He started to mumble something; Burt turned out the radio to hear him better.

"Mommy," Kurt murmured. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy."

Of course he was crying for his mother. That's what every child wanted, right? The safety and comfort of their mother cuddling them and telling them everything was going to be okay. Not some clumsy mechanic with an assistant who was such a dumbass that he would toss an offhand comment that could push a child to tears. That's what Kurt needed. His mother.

"Mommy, no," Kurt whimpered. "No, Mommy, no."

Burt's blood ran cold. Kurt wasn't crying because he missed his mother.

He reached over and took Kurt's hand, closing his big rough fingers over his tiny delicate ones. Kurt cried out in his sleep, arching his back.

"No, Mommy, please, _stop_..."

Burt held tightly to Kurt's hand, helpless and useless. The child wasn't crying because he wanted his mother.

He was crying because he _didn't _want her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

My eternal creys.

So there's a little bit more angst in this one. Kurt's just so scared of being bad and getting in trouble and getting punished. And he's evidently terrified of his mother. Poor little thing.

At least Burt is making sure he has a good birthday. The birthday party is in the next chapter! There will be lots of wee Blaine and confused little Kurt and also cake.

I also tried to clear up some of the confusion about the foster system and Carole alerting the authorities in the narrative of this chapter. Hopefully that helped! And we'll be seeing the social worker pretty soon- she has to come and check on Kurt periodically, after all.

I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! I'm trying to write as fast as I can; considering that I've written seven chapters in a little over a week, I feel like it's going pretty well. Your reviews are wonderful and encouraging and much appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt leaned against the doorway. "Kiddo, I hate to rush you, but we gotta hurry," he said.<p>

"I'm almost ready," Kurt pleaded. He was half-dressed with one shoe on, staring in consternation at the two different shirts in his hand. In desperation he turned to Burt. "Which one? Which one?"

Burt frowned. "You wanna wear blue or red?" he asked.

"Blue," Kurt said.

Burt pointed to the pale blue polo shirt instead of the red plaid button up. "That one, then," he said. "Go on, get dressed. We gotta go."

Kurt hastily pulled it on. He wore a pair of caramel-colored pants- another decidedly too-large hand-me-down from Carole's son- and his penny loafers. The polo shirt nearly fit and he looked pretty good, but Kurt still seemed dissatisfied. Burt held out his hand. "Come on, kiddo, we gotta go," he said.

It was hard to keep up the secret as he loaded Kurt into the truck and drove out of the neighborhood. He'd told Kurt they were just going to run a few errands, but in reality he was driving the kid over to his own birthday party. Burt kept glancing over at him, sitting quiet and placid in his booster seat. He was looking forward to seeing Kurt's face when they walked in the door and he realized it was a party for him.

Burt pulled onto a shaded side street, surreptitiously checking the piece of paper with Carole's address written on it. "Where are we going?" Kurt questioned.

"We have to stop by Miss Carole's house first," Burt said, pleased that he was actually asking questions. Kurt was clearly having a good day. "It won't take long." He pulled up to the curb and parked. "Come on, pop on out."

Kurt slid out of the front seat and trotted alongside Burt as he walked up the front path to the Hudsons' front door. "Then where are we going?" he inquired.

Burt held Kurt's small hand as the little boy carefully walked up the broad steps, grinning to himself at the sight of the blue and yellow balloons tied to the mailbox. "Some places," he said evasively, pressing the doorbell and reaching to adjust Kurt's collar.

He heard the patter of little feet before the door swung open, revealing little redheaded Lucy, beaming and resplendent in a white party dress. "Kurt!" she exclaimed, delighted. She flung her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his cheek, then grabbed the startled child's hand. "Mommy! Miss Carole! Kurt and Mister Burt are here!" "Bring 'em on in, honey!"

Kurt seemed utterly confused, tagging along behind Lucy as she dragged him into the kitchen. Burt ambled along behind them. "Hi, sweetheart," Carole said, holding her arms out to hug Kurt. "Happy birthday!"

Kurt allowed her to hug him, still staring blankly at Burt. "Hi," he said.

Burt grinned as he leaned against the counter. "How's everything going?" he asked.

"Pretty good," Carole said. "Annie's decorating the living room, and Finn's been helping me get the backyard ready. Blaine's mother is coming in a little bit with the birthday cake. Everyone else is coming at two."

Lucy jumped up and down, clapping her hands. "I'm so excited!" she exclaimed. "I love birthday parties!"

Kurt blinked. "Birthday party?" he repeated.

"For you!" Carole said. She patted his back. "Aren't you excited?"

"I don't know," he said.

Burt picked him up and set him on the kitchen counter so that he could see him at eye level. "Kiddo, today's your birthday," he said. "You're eight years old. And Finn's mom and Lucy's mom and Blaine's mom are gonna have a birthday party for you. How's that sound?"

Kurt blinked, then crooked his finger at Burt. Burt leaned in to listen. "Are there gonna be a lot of people?" he whispered.

"Not a lot, just friends from school," Burt reassured him. "That nice girl who tutors you told Miss Carole who your best friends are, so they're gonna come over. That all right?" Kurt nodded. "You wanna go play with Lucy and Finn till the party starts?" Kurt nodded again; Burt set him on the ground and let the two children run off to the backyard.

"Well, now I'm glad we decided against doing a big surprise," Carole remarked.

"If we'd brought him in here and had a dozen kids pop out of nowhere, he would've lost it," Burt said. "I think this might even be a little too much."

"I think he'll have fun," Carole reassured him. She picked up a bag of potato chips and poured it into a large bowl. "Finn's been so excited about Kurt's birthday. He had so much fun picking out his present. He's a little miffed that I didn't let him wrap it, but believe me, you don't want to see my son with scissors and tape."

Burt caught her by the arm as she started to cross to the living room. "Carole, I really appreciate this," he said softly. "There's no way I could've done this on my own."

She smiled up at him. "It's my pleasure," she said.

Burt smiled back at her, the grin spreading foolishly across his face, and her cheeks started to turn pink. The doorbell chimed merrily, and Burt cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll go get that," he said gruffly, turning around to walk hastily to the front door.

A pretty blonde woman with two small dark haired children stood on the stoop. "Mr. Hummel?" she said. "Hi, I don't think we've met. I'm Lilah Anderson, Blaine's mommy."

"Uh, yeah, nice to meet you," Burt said.

"Hi, Kurt's daddy!" Blaine chirped. "Is Kurt here yet?"

"He's out back, playing with Finn and Lucy," Burt said. "But I'm not Kurt's...never mind."

Lilah gave the two children a gentle scooch inside. "Blaine, Francey, go outside and play with the other children, please," she said. "I brought the birthday cake. I just hope he likes it."

"He's so surprised by all these party plans, I don't think he would mind if you brought a handful of mud," Burt snorted.

Lilah smiled as she set the cake down carefully on the table. "My Blaine just loves Kurt," she said. "He won't stop talking about him. He says he's so smart and kind." She straightened, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I'm a little confused, though. He says you're his daddy, but-"

"I'm not Kurt's dad," Burt said quietly. "He's my foster kid. I've had custody of him for about a month now."

"Is he related to you, or-"

Burt shook his head. "Nope," he said. "His mom's sick, so he's stuck with me." He shifted his weight. "I don't know if Blaine's told you anything about this, but Kurt, he's…he's kind of messed up. His home life's no good."

"Blaine says he cries a lot at recess," Lilah said softly. "Poor little thing. I'm glad he's in a better situation, though."

"Me too," Burt said, glancing out the window. The kids were racing around Finn's tiny metal swingset; Blaine pushed Kurt on the swing as he tried to pump his scrawny legs back and forth. "Me, too."

* * *

><p>"Are you excited about your birthday party?" Finn asked eagerly. His hair was sticking straight up in the back. "My mom does the coolest birthday parties. Last year we went bowling. Whadja do for your last birthday?"<p>

"Nothing," Kurt said shyly, rubbing the top of one foot against the back of his other leg.

"You didn't do anything?" Lucy said, aghast. "Nothing at all?"

Kurt shook his head. "My mommy doesn't like parties," he said.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "My mommy loves parties," she said. "Last year we had a pool party. I like swimming." She seized Kurt's hand. "If I have a pool party for my birthday next year, will you come?"

"Can't swim," Kurt said.

"I'll teach you!" Finn offered helpfully. "I don't really swim either, but I don't sink, and that's what's important, right?" Kurt shrugged. Finn jumped off the swing and landed on the grass with a soft thump and a heavy _oof. _"Is it time for the party yet? Mom made all sorts of things and I wanna eat 'em."

"Not yet," Lucy ordered. She hitched up the skirt of her party dress, revealing polka dot shorts, and scratched her knee. "I want to play freeze tag. Finn's the freezer!"

Kurt yelped and took off running, ducking behind the safety of a tree. They played freeze tag a lot at recess, and he'd caught onto it pretty fast, even though he wasn't a very good runner still. He darted behind the tree, peeking around to watch Finn chasing down Lucy.

"Kurt! Kurt! Kurt!"

He jumped and looked around to see Blaine running pell-mell across the patio, his face nearly split in half with a wide smile. "Hi!" Blaine cried joyously, flinging his arms around Kurt. "Happy birthday!"

"Hi," Kurt said. "I'm eight now."

"I was eight in February," Blaine said. He danced from foot to foot. "I got you a birthday present. I'm excited. I think you'll like it."

Kurt blinked. "Presents?" he said.

Blaine seized his hand. "You're gonna get lots of birthday presents!" he said. "I'm excited! And my mommy made a cake. It's yellow on the inside but chocolate on the outside. It's like a surprise cake, because you think it'll be chocolate on the inside, 'cept it's not."

"Kids! Come inside! The other kids'll be there soon!" Miss Carole called from the back porch.

"Party!" Lucy squealed. She grabbed Finn's arm and dragged him into the house. "Yay, it's party time. Come on, Finn."

Blaine looked at Kurt and smiled. Kurt smiled back a little uncertainly, and Blaine squeezed his fingers.

The party was equal parts exciting and terrifying. Exciting, because he got to wear a birthday crown, and Miss Carole and Miss Annie and Miss Lilah had decorated everything with blue and yellow balloons and streamers, and there were all sorts of delicious treats set out to nibble on, and there were games and music playing on the stereo, but terrifying, because there were a dozen kids running around and shrieking, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do, and Mister Burt had somehow managed to disappear.

Blaine was right, though- the best part was presents. Miss Carole set him up in an armchair, his short little legs swinging back and forth, and made the rest of the kids sit in a circle on the floor. Lucy ran back and forth from the present pile to his chair, handing him new gifts to open, and Finn noisily wadded up the discarded wrapping paper.

The presents were staggering. The loud little brunette girl with the duckling sweater gave him a stuffed duck (she announced that she dressed to match the gift); the Asian boy who couldn't seem to manage to stop moving gave him a set of action figures. Finn gave him a baseball and glove- Kurt privately decided that Sammy would like the ball better than he would.

Lucy gave him several Disney movies and a big kiss on the cheek, and made him promise to come over and watch Little Mermaid with her. He agreed, his cheeks blushing pink.

He saved Blaine's present for last, and the dark-haired child was bouncing up and down in pure delight by the time Lucy handed him the wrapped gift. "Mine's the best," Blaine boasted. "You're gonna like mine the best." Blaine's big sister rolled her eyes and tugged on his cardigan till he sat back down.

Kurt picked carefully at the shiny paper till it peeled away, still pristine and uncrumpled. The paper fell back to reveal a stack of beautiful hardbound storybooks. He stared at them, eyes widening.

Miss Lilah rubbed his shoulder. "Blaine picked these out just for you," she said. "We thought Mister Burt could read them to you at nighttime, when you've finished Peter Pan."

Blaine leaned on the arm of the chair, beaming at Kurt as he kicked his legs up. "There's Alice, and the Dorothy book, and the one with the bears," he said. "There's a bunch of them. Do you like them? Say you like them."

Kurt could only nod, smiling widely. Miss Carole ruffled his hair. "All right, that's it for presents," she said. "Miss Annie has games in the backyard. Who wants to play?"

The other kids shrieked in delight, scrambling to their feet. Kurt hung back a little, letting them make a mad dash for the back door before following behind, trying not to get trampled in the crowd.

He tried to play, he really did. But the rules were so complicated, and they already knew what to do, and there was so much noise and yelling and chaos that they were barely fifteen minutes in and he was edging away, moving to hide under the deck stairs where it was safer. He huddled down in the old mulch, careful to keep his clothes out of the dirt, and peered between the slats to watch the others play.

"Whatcha doing?"

He jumped, nearly bonking his head on the porch above his head. "Nothing!" he said. "Nothing, nothing!"

Blaine hunkered down under the steps and smiled at him. "They're noisy," he said. Kurt nodded emphatically. "Wanna go read one of the books I got you? I'll show you my favorite!"

Kurt paused, then nodded. Blaine scrambled out from under the steps, waited patiently for him to crawl out cautiously, and took his hand as they ran into the house.

The presents were piled on the dining room table. Blaine picked up a brown leather book and sat down cross-legged on the floor. "This is my favorite," he said. He patted the space beside him and Kurt sat down obediently. "I think you'll like it, because it's about a bunny. So Little Bun and Big Bun will like it too. See, because it's about a little boy who gets a bunny, and all of the other toys are mean to him because he's small and not as good as them, but it's okay, because the little boy likes him."

Kurt scooted closer as Blaine opened the book between them, the fresh crisp pages smelling beautifully of ink and new paper, and began to read aloud, one small finger following doggedly under the words. "There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid…"

Kurt peered over Blaine's shoulder to look at the beautiful pictures, his thumb slowly sliding into his mouth. Blaine read cheerfully, stumbling over the words in happy abandon.

"'What is REAL?' asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side on the nursery fender, before Nana came in to tidy the room." He used a soft high voice for the velveteen rabbit, his little nose twitching in imitation of a bunny. Kurt giggled around his thumb in his mouth.

Blaine beamed at that, then turned back to the book. "'Real isn't how you're made,' said the Stick Horse, 'it's a thing that happens to you.'" He dropped his voice down, low and slow. "'It's a thing that happens to you.'"

Kurt snuggled closer, sucking busily on his thumb. "'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit," Blaine read. "'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are real you don't mind being hurt.'"

They cuddled together on the floor, their backs pressed against the armchair while the other kids shrieked and ran around in mayhem outside. Kurt took a deep breath. The tightness in his tummy was beginning to relax.

They were both so engrossed in the story that they didn't notice when Miss Carole peeked into the living room. "Kurt? Blaine?" she said softly. She knelt down and touched their heads. "Boys, why aren't you playing?"

Blaine hugged the book to his chest. "Kurt wanted to read," he protested.

Miss Carole smiled. "I think the party's starting to wind down a little," she said. "Why don't you go play on the swings before we have cake and ice cream, hm?"

"Okay," Blaine said readily, popping up to his feet. Kurt followed; Miss Carole adjusted his shirt and smoothed his hair down before he ran out to play.

* * *

><p>Burt peeked into the Hudson house. "Hello?" he called. "I'm back."<p>

"In the kitchen, Burt."

He stuck his hands in his pockets and headed in Carole's direction. She was carefully placing eight blue candles in the top of a chocolate-frosted cake. She glanced up and smiled. "Everything go all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think he'll like it," Burt said. "How'd the party go?"

"I think it can be classified as a brilliant success," Carole said. "No tears, no meltdowns, no tummy troubles. He got a little overwhelmed when they were playing in the yard, but Blaine calmed him right down."

"Good," Burt said. He glanced down at the cake. "Just in time for the candles, I guess?"

"That was Annie's plan," Carole grinned. "Wait till the last second to get them hyped up on sugar, then send them home." She leaned out of the kitchen. "Kids! Time for cake and ice cream!"

"You need a hand with that?" Burt asked as she picked up the cake.

"If you can grab that lighter…"

He picked it up and set it on the table next to the cake. Before he could light the candles, a horde of small children came rushing in. One of them ran right into his legs, latching small arms around his hips. He glanced down, startled, to see Kurt hugging him tightly.

"Hi, there, sport," he said, surprised. He knelt down to see Kurt smiling ear-to-ear, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright. His birthday crown slid sideways over his silky hair. "You have a good day?"

"Yeah!" Kurt exclaimed. "It was a good birthday!"

"All right, all right, time for cake," Lucy's mother said. "Everybody, sit down. Kurt, baby, come sit up at the front so everyone can sing happy birthday."

Burt leaned against the back wall and watched. The children sang mostly on-key- the brunette in the duck sweater bellowed the loudest- and Kurt's blue eyes shone as Carole lit the candles. "All right, honey, make a wish and blow the candles out," she said.

He looked up at her and blinked. "Hm?" he said.

Carole smoothed his hair. "You make a wish and blow the candles out," she said. "Haven't you had a birthday cake before?"

Judging by the way Kurt bit his lip in worry, he hadn't. Before Burt could say anything, Blaine slid out of his seat and ran over to Kurt. "Close your eyes and make a wish," he said. Kurt obeyed. "You have your wish?" Kurt nodded. "Okay, open your eyes and blow out the candles. I'll help!"

The little boys blew out the winking lights together. Blaine laughed, and his mother tugged him to his seat with a playful ruffle of his curls and a quick kiss to his cheek. He smiled up at her, and Burt hated him.

He hated that Blaine kid. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Blaine could be happy and healthy and well-adjusted, dressed in nice new clothes that weren't hand-me-downs from a stranger's child. It wasn't fair that Blaine didn't have to be held back because no one ever bothered to teach him how to read and write. It wasn't fair that Blaine was spoiled and petted and adored while Kurt had to jump at loud noises and wet the bed at night and fear being struck for no reason at all.

It wasn't fair.

Carole sliced generous pieces of cake, saving the largest for Kurt, and Annie scooped out ice cream. The kids devoured it quickly, although Kurt picked at his, leaving chunks of frosting behind. By the time they were finished, the parents were beginning to pick up their children, who said their exuberant goodbyes and hopped out of the house.

"You'd better take him home," Carole said, nodded towards Kurt. The little boy curled up his chair, blue eyes bleary. Finn was waving around the catcher's mitt, trying in vain to explain to him how to play baseball. "He's about to conk out right where he is."

"Yeah, I guess I should," Burt said. He glanced around the living room- the decorations, the decimated cake, the pile of presents. "Carole, I…I really can't thank you enough for doing this for him."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I was happy to do it. He's such a sweet kid, and he seemed to have a really good time today." She squeezed his arm. "Go on, take him home. He needs a good nap after all of this sugar and excitement."

Burt grinned and scooped Kurt out of the chair. The little boy twined his arms around his neck and curled up like a sleepy kitten against his chest. "You worn out, bud?" Burt asked. Kurt nodded. "Let's get you and your presents into the car and get you home."

He loaded Kurt into the car first, then piled the presents into the back of the pickup's cab. The child dozed off on the drive home, but Burt found himself growing equal parts anxious and excited. He kept glancing over as Kurt snoozed in his booster seat.

When they got to the house he let Kurt sleep in the car while he carted the presents inside. On the last trip Kurt blinked and sat up, dazed and sleepy. "Go on, head upstairs to bed," Burt said, picking him up and setting him on the ground. "You need a nap in the worst way, bud."

He followed the little boy into the house and up the stairs. Kurt yawned mightily, too sleepy to cover his mouth with his hand. Burt gave him a gentle pat, turned on the lights in Kurt's bedroom, and waited.

It took a second for it to sink in. Kurt took a hesitant step, his eyes wide. "Is this my room?" he whispered.

"Yeah, kiddo," Burt said, ruffling his hair. "It's your room."

The afternoon's work had been a success. The walls were painted light blue instead of a scuffed beige, a few framed pictures hung on the walls, and a matched set of lamps salvaged from the basement cast a warm cheerful glow. The mismatch of dusty junk had been moved to the basement, and the room was neatly and tidily organized with a set of glossy pine furniture- a nightstand, a desk and chair, and a dresser. The bed was covered with a new polka dot comforter and a new puffy white pillow, but Kurt's bunny rabbit and the blue blanket were spread across the top. Mollie's bookshelf stood in state by the window, freshly dusted, and the books were neatly arranged.

Burt grinned to himself at the look of wonder on Kurt's face. Good thing that Mr. Collins owned a furniture store- cut a good deal on his car repairs, and the man practically gave away the stuff for Kurt's room. "It's all yours," he said. "Jake helped me put it together while you were at your party. You like it?"

Kurt nodded, thunderstruck. Burt wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him into his side. "Well, then happy birthday, scooter."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

BRB, OVARIES EXPLODING.

That precious little boy. I just want to bundle him into my arms and kiss the tip of his nose and cuddle him until he's happy forever.

Kurt is just the sweetest child. And Finn wants to be his big brother, and Lucy is always holding his hand, and Blaine just adores him...aren't they just the cutest little bunch?

The next chapter is basically a day in the life of wee little Kurt, so you get to see him in school and stuff. And the social worker comes back to see how he's doing. So you should tell me if there are any wee little Kurt things youd like to see! I might use them...

In related news, special thanks to Heather for suggesting The Velveteen Rabbit.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt screwed up his face as the covers were tugged back. "Wake up, buddy, time for school," Mister Burt said, giving his shoulder a gentle little shake. "Up, up, up."<p>

"Too cold," Kurt whined, taking hold of his soft blue blanket and pulling it over his head. He hugged Bun to his chest and tucked his thumb in his mouth.

The blanket was peeled back despite his attempts to hold on tight, and Mister Burt scooped him up. "Come on, time for school," he said. "Go take your bath, kiddo."

Kurt pouted as he was deposited unceremoniously on the bathroom floor, his thumb still in his mouth and his little bare toes curling at the touch of the cold tile floor, and Mister Burt pried the blanket and the bunny from his hands. "Hurry up, breakfast'll be on the table by the time you're done," he said, and he closed the door behind him.

Kurt sighed, wiping his thumb on his pajama shirt, and wriggled out of his clothes. He was still wetting the bed at night- a shameful secret that kept him from accepting Blaine's repeated begging to have a sleepover- but Mister Burt never said anything about it. Not like Mommy did.

He slid into the hot water, his cold skin warming up quickly, and with a quick inhale he slid all the way under, plugging his nose. In a second he emerged, sputtering, his wet hair dripping all over his face, and he fumbled with the shampoo bottle- the no tears kind, thank goodness. He really did like taking baths. It was nice to start the day clean and warm. He didn't take baths at all at home, and the rare cold shower was not exactly soothing.

When his hair was rinsed clear of shampoo and his skin was scrubbed clean and rosy pink, he pulled up the plug and let the water drain out as he grabbed a thick fluffy towel. He burrowed into it, clumsily ruffling up his hair in an effort to dry off. "Mister Burt," he called as he shimmied into his boxer shorts, "Mister Burt, I'm done."

"Just a second."

He stayed huddled under the towel, his boxers clinging to his wet skin. Mister Burt peeked into the bathroom and eyed him critically. "You're looking pretty good, bud," he said, taking the stingy cream and the gauze roll out of the medicine cabinet.

Kurt looked down. The worst of the bruising still lingered in patches of yellow and green, but he wasn't splotched all over in black and blue anymore. Even the infected red welts had faded into pink spots. He poked at his navel in interest as Mister Burt smeared the cream stuff over the sores. "Mister Burt, I've got a belly," he reported. "See?"

"That's because your stomach isn't trying to eat itself from the inside out anymore," Mister Burt said absently as he wrapped the gauze with now-practiced fingers. "You look like a normal little kid instead of a scarecrow now." He fixed the end of the gauze. "There. Go get dressed. Oatmeal's on the table."

Kurt scurried off to obey, rummaging through his new dresser for an outfit to wear. He had spent quite some time painstakingly organizing his meager collection of clothing into the drawers, and he pulled out a striped shirt and a pair of navy pants without having to stop and think about it. Sometimes he wished that he had nice clothes like Blaine, who never seemed to wear the same outfit twice and wore sweaters so soft that sometimes he had to reach out and pet them (luckily, Blaine never seemed to mind). But he was lucky that he had clothes at all, he supposed, even if they were hand-me-downs from Finn. It was better than wearing the worn-out things that his mommy took from the charity people last Christmas.

He scooted downstairs, tugging his socks on as he went, and clambered into his usual seat at the kitchen table. Sammy barked a cheerful greeting and padded under the table to nose at Kurt's knees. "Hi, puppy," Kurt said, reaching down to pat at the dog's ears.

Mister Burt put a spoon in his hand. "Eat," he said. Kurt settled down to eat his breakfast- oatmeal with brown sugar, cream, and peanut butter and a glass of cold milk. Mister Burt wasn't really much of a cook, and Kurt was a little picky, but they'd found enough things that Burt could make and Kurt could eat to satisfy both of them.

He ate most of his breakfast, set his dishes in the sink, and raced upstairs to brush his teeth. By the time he came back downstairs with his shoes one, Mister Burt had his jacket in one hand and his backpack in the other. "All right, you ready?" he asked, holding the windbreaker open so Kurt could slide his arms in.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said, wriggling into the jacket and waiting patiently for Mister Burt to zip it up. He grabbed up his backpack and followed him out to the truck, waving goodbye to Sammy.

Mister Burt turned the radio on before backing out of the driveway, and Kurt perked up his ears. He loved it when Mister Burt played the radio, even if sometimes he played old-sounding twangy stuff. Honestly, he liked all of it, even if Mommy did say that music was a sin. And sure, some of the other kids teased him because he rode to and from school in Mister Burt's pickup truck instead of the bus like everyone else, but he didn't care. He liked riding in the truck, buckled safely in his booster seat while the radio played and Mister Burt hummed along tunelessly. It was better than climbing up those big black steps to the bus and getting swallowed in the gaping yellow mouth that smelled like ancient vinyl and gasoline and a million school lunches.

Mister Burt pulled the truck up to the drop-off point outside the front doors and parked. "Have a good day, bud," he said as he reached over and unbuckled Kurt's seatbelt. "I'll see you at three. And remember, the other kids are gonna come over and play for a while, remember?"

Kurt brightened. "I remember!" he said. He shimmied out of his seat and picked up his backpack. "Bye, Mister Burt."

"Bye, kiddo."

He shouldered his backpack and headed inside. The school was noisy with arriving kids and their teachers trying to herd them into some kind of order. For a moment he lingered outside Mrs. Reynolds' room, wishing longingly that he could go to the second grade, but he sighed and kept walking till he reached his first grade classroom.

Mrs. Wheatley was an okay teacher, he supposed. He didn't have much knowledge of teachers- after all, Mommy usually taught him by making him copy things out of her books while she leaned her skinny elbows on the windowsill and blew cigarette smoke into the alley behind their apartment- but Mrs. Wheatley seemed all right. She was a nice older lady, very patient even with a classful of children that all demanded her attention at once, and she didn't let the other kids pick on him if she caught them. She didn't catch them every time, though.

He hung up his coat and his backpack at his little hook labeled "KURT D." in big block letters and sat down at his desk, his little toes hovering above the floor, while he waited for class to begin. The other kids didn't really talk to him, so he just kept to himself.

He listened quietly with the other kids, doing exactly what he was told- stand up, sit down, repeat after me, stay quiet. Some of the other kids talked or giggled, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew what happened if he talked when he wasn't supposed to.

They went out for morning recess on the little playground, running around in the midmorning sunshine with their jackets abandoned by the fence. Kurt mostly stuck to the swings, pumping his legs back and forth as the spring breeze ruffled his hair.

He was more than ready to go back inside; he was the first one in line at the playground gate when the teacher whistled, even though the others moaned and fussed. It was nicer inside. They practiced handwriting after recess, which he liked- the way the pencil lead smoothed over the paper, the way the pencil felt in his small hand, the way that the lines suddenly dawned on him as letters. He knew all of his letters now, and his numbers too, but sometimes the words still didn't quite make sense.

They did math after that, easy things like adding and subtracting. Those were easy. Numbers made sense. He could count on his little fingers when he got stuck, and that helped. But he liked numbers better than letters, he was pretty sure.

When math time was over, his teacher rounded them all up with their lunchboxes and lined them up at the door. Kurt danced anxiously from foot to foot, his lunch money clutched in his hand. Lunch was the best time of the day. He loved lunchtime. The other kids could keep recess.

He filed obediently in the cafeteria and bought his lunch- today was meatloaf day, which okay, he supposed, but he liked the mashed potato part the best- and sat down at his usual spot, wriggling back and forth as he waited and waited and waited.

The second grade came in soon in their own neat little lines. Blaine spotted him first, his whole face lighting up, and he ran over with his plaid lunch bag in hand. "Hi!" he exclaimed, dropping down in the seat beside him. "Mama packed me carrot sticks again today, ew. Do you want some?"

Kurt nodded eagerly, taking the plastic ziploc bag. Lucy slid into the other empty seat beside him and beamed. "My mommy and I baked cookies yesterday night," she said. "I brought one for you."

Kurt whispered a thank you and set the cookie down on his tray. Finn plunked down in the seat across from him and frowned. "I got peanut butter and jelly," he said. "Again." He brightened. "But potato chips, cool!"

Kurt picked at his lunch, eating all of his mashed potatoes but picking around the meatloaf. He crunched into Blaine's unwanted carrot sticks, listening while the other kids chatted happily about their class. Sometimes they asked him about what he was doing, and he would answer shyly, ducking his head as his ears flushed pink. Blaine scooted closer, their hips pressed together.

When they had finished eating (Finn finished first and waited impatiently for the rest of them) and they had cleared their trash, they ran outside to the big playground. Kurt trailed behind them, still nibbling on the chocolate chip cookie that Lucy and her mommy baked; when they got too far ahead, Lucy ran back to take him by the hand and walk him to the gate.

Finn ran onto the playground first, shrieking and flailing his arms like windmills as he made a beeline for the tire swing. Blaine let out a joyful whoop and scooted after him, leaping onto the tire swing first. "Come on!" he said, patting the seat beside him. "Kurt, come on!"

Kurt carefully brushed the cookie crumbs off his hands and clambered up to the seat. Lucy climbed up beside him, tugging her skirt down over her striped leggings, and held on tight to the rubber-covered chains. "Push us fast, Finn!" she said.

Kurt dug his fingers into the holes in the chains and let out a cautious giggle as Finn spun them in a circle. Blaine howled with excitement, his amber eyes lighting. "Now higher!" Lucy said. "Push us higher!"

Kurt grabbed inadvertently onto Blaine's knee as Finn pushed the tire swing higher. "Don't be scared, Finn won't let us fall," Blaine said, letting go of the chain long enough to pat Kurt's hand. "See, it's fun!"

Kurt nodded, his tummy bouncing as they swung up and down in a big lazy circle. He held on tight, still smiling ear to ear.

And then he heard the dreaded call. "First grade, come line up!"

Finn pulled the tire swing to a stop. "You gotta go, Kurt," he said.

Kurt locked his arms around the tire swing and shook his head stubbornly. Lucy smoothed his breeze-mussed hair. "Bye," she said. "We're coming over to play today, remember? So we'll see you."

"Second grade, come line up! It's time for play rehearsal!"

Kurt's stomach twisted. It wasn't fair. The second graders were in the school musical- they only had small parts, but they got to sing and stand on stage and even dance a little. He'd heard the bigger kids practicing one day when he walked past the auditorium, and he'd pressed his cheek to the doorframe and watched them longingly until a teacher came by and scolded him.

"Yay, play rehearsal!" Blaine sang, jumped down from the tire swing. "Bye, Kurt! See you later!"

Kurt watched them run on to their class, excited to go sing and dance around the stage. He stood by himself on the playground, tangling his hand in the untucked hem of his shirt.

"Kurt! Line up with your class!"

He dragged himself over to the first grade line, standing at the end with his head hanging down. The others filed in obediently. He watched the second grade go, Blaine's dark curls and Lucy's smooth red hair disappearing, and a sad little noise escaped his lips. He didn't want them to go. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to stay with them, holding onto Lucy's hand and eating Blaine's carrot sticks and hiding behind big gawky Finn when he got nervous. He wanted to watch them sing on the stage.

"Kurt, stop dawdling and keep up with the class, please."

He stopped where he was and shook his head. He didn't want to go with the first grade. He wanted to go with Blaine and Finn and Lucy. He wanted to feel safe.

"Kurt, come here."

He shook his head.

"Kurt, please obey."

He was torn. He knew he had to obey. Mommy made him obey. But he didn't want to. He _really _didn't want to. He started to cry a little out of confusion.

"Kurt, why are you crying?"

He shook his head again. His little body felt like it was going to tear in half. He began to cry harder, tears running down his cheeks. He wanted to run, towards the auditorium where the second graders were or home where Mister Burt and Sammy were waiting, or even all the way to his mother's apartment, he was that desperate, but his little feet felt like lead, sinking into the ground.

His teacher frowned at him. "Kurt, stop crying," she said.

He started to sob, tears dribbling into the collar of his shirt. He wanted to throw himself on the floor and cry until everything was fixed and everything was perfect.

"Mrs. Wheatley, I'm here to take Kurt to tutoring. Is he…oh."

"He's having a temper tantrum, I'm afraid." He stared down at the floor and sobbed. Everyone was staring at him, he could feel their eyes boring into him, and…

His tutor knelt down in front of him and tilted his chin up. "Kurt, it's time for tutoring," Miss Janey said gently. "Do you want to come with me?"

He rubbed his knuckles in his eyes, considering his options. Miss Janey was sweet and nice, and she usually kept juice boxes in her office. He nodded; she stood up and took his hand.

She led him into the educational services office and let him sit in his usual seat. Silently she handed him a tissue and let him blow his nose noisily. When he threw the tissue away, she smoothed his hair back into place with a gentle pat and set a box of apple juice in front of him, the straw already in place. "A little better?" she asked. He nodded. "All right. You drink that, and I'll get out the flashcards, okay?"

He nodded, taking a long soothing sip of the cold juice. She came back with the phonics flashcards in hand, and by that time he was ready to go.

He didn't actually mind tutoring. The rest of the class was stuck in their reading lesson, listening to the teacher, but he got to have Miss Janey all to himself, coaching him over the hard words and encouraging him when he did well. And she said he was doing much better already, which was good. He wanted to do better. He wanted to be in second grade so badly

At the end of his tutoring session, Miss Janey let him pick out a prize from the treasure chest (he picked an eraser shaped like a flower) and walked him back to class. He sat quietly in his desk for the rest of class, trying to pay attention, but he knew that if he just waited patiently enough, the bell would ring and he could go home.

At long last it rang; he bolted for his cubby to grab his backpack. Excitement was beginning to bubble up in his tummy. His friends were finally going to come over to play at his house. Well, it wasn't really his house, but it was close enough.

They called his name pretty early on, and he bolted for the door, his worn out blue backpack bouncing on his hip. He reached Mister Burt's truck first and pulled the door open. "Hi, Mister Burt!" he said.

"Hey, buddy," he said. "Good day?"

"I guess," he shrugged.

Blaine ran up to them, beaming happily. "Hi, Kurt's daddy!" he said.

"I'm not his-"

"Kurt, I brought my dinosaurs, they're in my backpack," Blaine said cheerfully.

Mister Burt sighed. "All right, kids, get in, get in," he said. "Kurt, get in your booster seat." Kurt obeyed, clambering into the front seat while the others got into the back. He kicked his feet in excitement. Nothing could ruin this afternoon.

* * *

><p>Burt was waiting for the doorbell all afternoon, but he still flinched when it chimed. He grabbed it before the four little kids tearing up his living room could notice. "Come in," he said without preamble.<p>

Kurt's social worker, a thin woman with prematurely gray hair, stepped cautiously into the living room. "Hi, Mr. Hummel," she said. "I'm so glad we could work out this appointment."

"Yeah, well, I was more worried about you keeping up with it," he snorted, closing the door after him.

"Trust me, I've gotten your messages, but I have a lot more pressing issues to deal with an emergency placement," she said irritably.

Burt sighed. "I'm not trying to pick fights," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm just concerned."

"You said something about suspicions of abuse?" she said.

"He had a belt with him," Burt said in a low voice, sliding his hands in his back pockets. "There was a note from his mom saying I could clock him if he didn't obey, and there was a grown man's belt in his backpack. What am I supposed to make of that?"

"Mr. Hummel, some parents believe in corporal punishment-"

"I'd had him for two days when I brought him to the clinic down the street," Burt interrupted. "He's got bruises and marks all over that tiny body. He was half-starved, he still can't sleep at night without having nightmares and wetting the bed, he's stuck in the first grade because he can't read, or even write his own name. He turned eight last week, and he didn't even know what to do with his own birthday cake."

"Did you take any pictures of his injuries?" the social worker asked.

"Well…no, but-"

"Then I don't have anything physical that I can take before a judge," the social worker said. "I'm very sorry, but without any physical evidence, I don't have anything to start a case with."

"Just _look _at him," Burt said desperately. "Just talk to him. You can tell. There's something not right going on."

The social worker sighed. "Mr. Hummel, I'm very sorry," she said. "Truly, I am. But the system's clogged as it is. I'm sure you have cause for concern, but until we have some sort of concrete proof that his mother is abusing him, we can't build his case." She squared her shoulders. "I have two more appointments to keep up with. Can I see the child?"

Burt could feel his whole body deflating. "In there," he said, pointing towards the living room. He followed her inside.

The four tiny terrors were wreaking havoc in the living room. Blaine was sitting cross-legged on the coffee table with a plastic dinosaur in each hand, shouting happy "rawrs!" and clashing their chunky legs together. Finn was playing tug o'war with Sammy and one of his socks, giggling every time the dog gave a hop and tried to lick him. And Kurt was sitting close to Lucy's side, one of her dolls snuggled in his arms as he listened with rapture to the story she was telling. Heaven only knew what the social worker saw, but Burt's heart constricted just the smallest bit. The little boy's cheeks had begun to fill out, round and rosy in his pale face, and his blue eyes shone brightly. His clothes were just a little bit ill-fitting, but he looked like a normal, happy little boy.

"Kiddo, can you come here a second?" Burt asked.

Kurt looked up and the color drained from his face. He obeyed, but he kept his distance from the social worker, hiding behind Burt's legs and digging his small fingers into his belt loops. "Hi, Chris," the social worker said.

"_Kurt_," Burt corrected through gritted teeth, unconsciously reaching to stroke Kurt's hair in an effort to calm him. The little boy clung closer.

"Have you been happy with Mr. Hummel?" the social worker asked. Kurt nodded wordlessly. The other children had fallen silent as they stared at the confrontation; even Sammy had gone still and quiet. "Does you have enough to eat?" Another nod. "Does he take you to school?" Another nod, smaller this time. "Can you show me where you sleep?"

Kurt silently headed upstairs, the social worker following. "Mister Burt?" the little redheaded girl whispered. "Who's the scary lady?"

He patted the top of her head clumsily, mussing her neatly-tied hairbow. "Never you mind," he said gruffly, and he followed Kurt and the social worker upstairs.

The child gestured silently to his bedroom- the neatly-made twin bed, the tidy bookshelves, the matching dresser and nightstand. "It's very nice," the social worker said, sounding pleasantly surprised. Kurt edged towards the bed, his little fingers tangling nervously in Big Bun's soft fur. "Is this all yours?" "It was my birthday," Kurt whispered.

Burt cleared his throat. "D'you need Kurt for anything else?" he asked.

"No, just a current photo for my files," she said, digging an out-of-date cheap digital camera out of her purse. She snapped the picture quickly; Kurt flinched at the flash.

"Kiddo, go back downstairs and play," Burt said. "Take your rabbit."

Kurt didn't need another word. He grabbed his stuffed bunny and fled, the rapid patter of his little feet fading on the steps. "Well, he seems nicely adjusted," the social worker said. "This'll be an easy report to write up."

"You don't think any of his behavior is…odd?" Burt said skeptically.

"Mr. Hummel, he's a seven-year-old child who was uprooted from his family without warning and left with a stranger," she said. "Of course he'll be quiet and standoffish. I see it all the time."

Burt shifted his weight. "I don't think he likes his family all that much," he said frankly. "He doesn't like to talk about his mom, and I've never heard him say anything about his dad."

"Oh, the father's not in the picture," she said absently. "It's just him and the mother, that's why he had to be put in the emergency placement program when she fell ill." She dropped the camera back in her purse. "And to be honest, Mr. Hummel, you might as well get used to having him around. His mother's illness is…quite severe, apparently."

"I'll keep him as long as I need to," Burt said. For a moment a question rose unbidden on his tongue- _so will he ever be up for adoption?- _but he bit back the urge. "You'll just come in and check on him?"

"Once a month," she said. "And you're receiving the biweekly checks, correct?"

"Right on schedule," he said grimly.

"Fantastic," she said. "Well, I've better be going, I've got-"

"More appointments, I got it."

He walked her out to the front door; she was already rummaging for the next address and barely acknowledged his terse goodbye.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?"<p>

He hid in the doorway of the living room. Lucy scooted off the floor and peeked around the doorframe as he tried to duck into the hallway. "Is the scary lady gone?" she whispered.

Kurt let out an involuntary whimper. He hated that lady. She was the one who loaded him up into her already crowded car when his mother dropped him off at the center.

Lucy took him by the hand, small fingers tangling in his. "It's okay," she soothed, squeezing tightly as she tugged him back into the living room. "Come play with us."

Finn sat back on his heels. "Is that scary lady your mom?" he questioned.

Kurt shook his head. "My social worker," he whispered.

Blaine frowned. "So…your mom?" he said, confused.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "She…um…my mommy lives somewhere else."

"So that's why you live with Mister Burt?" Lucy inquired.

Kurt nodded, hiding behind her a little bit, his fingers starting to creep towards his mouth. "My mommy is sick," he whispered. "She was throwing up all the time and she couldn't go to work and so she asked the scary social worker to take me away."

"Are you going back?" Finn asked, distraught.

Kurt shrugged, his thumb sliding into his mouth. Lucy pulled him over to the couch and sat him down beside her. "Well, now you can stay here and be Mister Burt's little boy," she told him, stroking his back. "And you can be our friend."

"Because we like you and stuff," Blaine added. Kurt smiled shyly, sucking on his thumb.

Finn was still staring at the floor. "Your mommy gave you away?" he said, still horrified. "I don't think you have a real mom. A real mom would never give her kid away."

Mister Burt and the social worker walked past the living room on their way to the front door. Kurt jumped. Finn frowned and put up a protective hand, as if he could keep the social worker away like that.

"It's okay, she's gone," Blaine said, jumping up onto the couch beside Kurt. He scooted closer, nuzzling his nose against Kurt's cheek. "C'mon, let's go play. I wanna be the T-rex. You can be the pterodactyl."

Kurt curled his knees up to his chest, huddling between the warmth of Lucy and Blaine, sucking feverishly on his thumb. He didn't want to go with the social worker. Ever. He didn't want to go back to his mommy and their tiny dirty apartment that smelled like old takeout and cigarette smoke. He didn't want to sit still and silent for hours while he waited for her to come home from work. He wanted to stay with Mister Burt and his puppy and his new blue bedroom and his friends.

Mister Burt walked back into the living room, his face set in grim lines, but he forced a smile when he looked at them. "Who wants dinner?" he asked.

* * *

><p>Burt pulled the door open as soon as he saw the headlights flash in the driveway. The minivan parked with a heavy groan of metal and Carole hurried out of the driver's seat. "I'm so sorry," she said as she walked up to the front door. "I was late getting off work, and I-"<p>

Burt held a finger to his lips. "They're asleep," he whispered.

Carole paused. "Really?"

He ushered her into the house and closed the door. "I let them eat their mac and cheese in front of the TV," he whispered. "You would've thought I told them they could eat on Mars. Blaine's mom picked him up about an hour ago and Lucy's mom came about ten minutes later."

He walked her into the living room and grinned despite himself. A movie was still playing on the TV, but Kurt and Finn were curled up on the couch with Sammy standing guard, both fast asleep, their little brown heads together. Finn was longer and lankier, and Kurt was fairer and more delicate, but they could still conceivably pass as brothers.

"How sweet," Carole sighed. "Oh, look at them. They're so cute." She bent over Finn and kissed his forehead. "Brown eyes, wake up." She smoothed his hair. "Come on, little baby brown eyes. Time to go home."

Finn cracked one eye open. "Mommy, I'm sleepy," he whined.

"I know," Carole said. "Let's get you home."

He grabbed her sleeve. "Can we take Kurt with us?" he asked.

"No, baby, he has to stay here with Mister Burt," Carole said.

"But Mommy, he doesn't, he doesn't have a mommy," Finn protested. He sat up, blinking, with his hair sticking up. "His mommy gave him away. Can we take him?"

Burt saw Carole's gaze soften. "No, sweetie," she said. "Come on, let's get your stuff so we can go home."

Finn obeyed sleepily. "Bye, Mister Burt," he said as his mother handed him his sneakers. "Bye, Sammy. Tell Kurt I say bye."

"I will," Burt promised, handing Finn's backpack to Carole. "See you two later."

"Have a good night," Carole said. She squeezed Finn's shoulder as Burt led them outside and closed the door.

He went back to the couch and sat down beside Kurt. "Hey, little boy," he whispered. "Come on, time for bed."

Kurt roused a little. "Where's-"

"They went home, buddy," Burt said, smoothing his hair. "Come on, let's go, up the stairs."

Kurt laid back down on the old couch, languidly sucking his thumb, and Burt scooped him up. "Fine, since you're so tired, I'll carry you…" he said.

The little boy snuggled against his chest, too sleepy to protest as Burt carried him up the stairs. Sammy bounced after them, tail wagging. "We didn't walk Sammy," Kurt mumbled.

"He'll be fine for one day," Burt said. "It's late and you're tired."

He turned on the lights in Kurt's bedroom and set him down on the floor. "Get your pajamas on and brush your teeth," he said.

Kurt looked back at him, drawing his thumb out of his mouth and wiping it sleepily on the hem of his shirt. "Mister Burt?" he said. "Is my mommy gonna take me back?"

Burt paused. "Yeah, kid," he said. "At some point." He cleared his throat. "Get ready for bed."

He went back downstairs to clean up the wrecked living room- the kids' dinner dishes were still scattered on the coffee table, and he was pretty sure Blaine had left all of his toy dinosaurs behind. By the time he went back up to Kurt's room, the little boy was sitting on his bed, dressed in his pajamas.

"You brush your teeth?" Burt asked. Kurt nodded, and he pulled the covers back so the little boy could lie down. "We're gonna skip the story tonight. You're too tired."

"Mommy will be mad," Kurt whispered.

Burt frowned. "About what?" he asked.

Kurt hugged his rabbit to his chest. "I'm not s'posed to read storybooks," he whispered. "I'm s'posed to read the Bible."

"You're not gonna go to hell for reading storybooks," Burt said, exasperated. "Go to sleep."

"But Mommy says that little kids have to be extra good," Kurt said. "God doesn't like kids. So they hafta be good."

Burt sat back down at the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to hunt Kurt's mother down and strangle her. "God doesn't hate kids," he said. He wracked his brain to the days when he used to go to church, even the days when he helped Mollie teach her little kid Sunday school class. "Here, I'll tell you a Bible story. Once upon a time-"

"Bible stories don't start with 'once upon a time'," Kurt objected.

"They do when I tell 'em," Burt said. "Once upon a time, Jesus was walking around with those guys who followed him, and this little kid wanted to run up and talk to him, but the follower guys yelled at the kid and told him to leave because Jesus was busy with…stuff. But Jesus stopped them and told him to let the kid talk to him, because…uh, theirs was the kingdom of heaven. And they all lived happily ever after. The end."

"People don't like kids," Kurt said softly. "Kids are bad."

"I don't think you're bad," Burt said. Kurt bit his lip. Burt wracked his brain further, remembering a vague story that Mollie had told with those old faded flannelgraphs, the children gathered around her in admiration as she held them spellbound.

"Once upon a time, Jesus and his followers were walking through a town and a man ran up to him," Burt said softly. "He was crying, and he told Jesus that his daughter was very sick, about to die, and all he wanted was for Jesus to make her better. Jesus stopped everything and went to the man's house, but when they got there, everybody was crying because the little girl had already died."

Kurt stared up at him, wide-eyed, thumb creeping into his mouth.

"Jesus didn't cry," Burt said. "He walked right in and took the little girl by the hand and told her to wake up, because everyone loved her and wanted her back. And she woke up, and everyone cried because they were so happy. And so everybody lived happily ever after. The end."

Kurt sucked on his thumb, his blue eyes round and solemn. "You still think everybody hates kids?" Burt asked.

Kurt just shrugged.

"You think everybody hates you?"

Kurt shrugged again.

Burt smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Kiddo, I can't tell you anything about your mom," he said softly. "I think she's messed up, and she's messed you up. But Blaine and Finn and Lucy don't hate you, and neither do their moms…and neither do I. I don't hate you."

The little boy just regarded him coolly, and Burt had the feeling that Kurt didn't believe him. He picked up Kurt's stuffed rabbit and tucked it under his arm. "Goodnight, scooter," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mister Burt," Kurt whispered as Burt tucked him and turned off the lights. He walked out of Kurt's room into the hall, feeling more helpless than he'd felt in years.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This is a terrible chapter. OMG. Gah. You don't even understand. This chapter is necessary for the plot, but it was like pulling teeth to write it. And I'm still not sure if the ending makes sense. Double gah.

But the next chapter will be super mega adorable. I promise. I cross my heart. For sure.

And if you are not familiar with Seussical the Musical...I recommend you check it out. Because it will be important, starting in the next chapter. I particularly recommend the "Alone in the Universe" duet between Horton and Jojo...


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"So there's nothing we can do?" Burt said, dismayed.<p>

"Well, not completely nothing," Carole said. "We can do what we can, but at the end of the day, we can't force CPS to do anything."

Burt sat back in his chair, defeated. "You should've seen this woman, Carole," he said. "She just breezed through the house, took one look at Kurt, and left. She didn't even listen when I tried to tell her about the belt." He took off his baseball cap and ran his hand over his head. "I just can't understand it."

"Kids in the system fall through the cracks all the time," Carole said. She sighed. "And eventually he'll be out of the system and returned his mother."

"I don't want him going back there," Burt said. "He's terrified of his mom, and I don't want him to be stuck there."

"She's his mother," Carole said quietly. "It's incredibly hard to have a child removed from their biological family."

"Well, then what can I do?" Burt demanded. "There's got to be something."

"Keep pushing the social worker to investigate Kurt's home," Carole said. "And take notes. Write everything down. Every incident, every offhand comment that sends up a red flag. Date everything. The more you have, the more the social worker will have to work with."

"I can do that," Burt said. He dropped his baseball cap on his desk. "I can't thank you enough for helping me with this. I just…god, Carole, this is so damn frustrating."

"I know," she said, reaching across the desk to place a reassuring hand on his arm. "But you're doing so well with him. Ending up in your home is probably the best thing that could've happened to him."

Burt smiled ruefully. "He belongs in a real family with a mom and a dad, not some boring old mechanic," he said. "But at least he's adjusting a little bit."

"How's school going for him?" Carole asked. "Finn says he still gets upset at school a lot."

"Yeah, he really hates being in the first grade," Burt said. "At least it's making him study real hard. He can read out loud to me now, as long as I help him over the hard parts, and his handwriting's okay." He pulled his baseball cap on his head. "I think the thing that gets to him is being separated from Finn and the kids. Especially when they get to go work on that school play and he has to stay behind."

* * *

><p>"Please don't cry," Blaine begged, holding tight to Kurt's hand. "We'll see you tomorrow, we promise."<p>

Kurt covered his eyes with his forearm. He didn't want to cry, he really didn't. But he just couldn't help it. They were going to go inside and sing with the big kids, and he had to go to hateful old tutoring, all by himself. He didn't want to be left alone. He wanted to go with them.

"Maybe we can stay with you," Finn said uncertainly.

Kurt sniffed hard and tried to make himself stop crying. It was stupid to cry, it really was. He knew it. He just couldn't help it.

"My mommy's coming," Lucy said, biting her lip. "We're supposed to go to music class."

"Are we gonna be in trouble?" Blaine asked.

Mrs. Trevelyan walked up to them, frowning. "Why aren't you three in line?" she asked. "The other boys and girls are waiting to start rehearsal."

Lucy ran up to her mother and grabbed hold of her sleeve. "Mommy, Kurt's crying," she reported. "Can't he come to play practice with us?"

"Honey, Kurt's in the first grade," Mrs. Trevelyan said. "I can't put him in the show."

Kurt hung his head. He knew he couldn't be in the play. He just wanted to so badly. He rubbed his eyes and tried to explain, but his voice wouldn't work.

Mrs. Trevelyan knelt down and tugged his hands away from his face. She smiled sympathetically. "Poor little lamb," she said, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Honey, you go to tutoring after lunch, right?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. She squeezed his narrow shoulders. "Well, why don't you come with me for right now," she said. "I'll talk to your tutor."

Blaine gave a joyful leap and took Kurt by the hand. "Come get in line with me!" he said. "This'll be fun!"

Kurt dried his tears as Lucy sidled in beside him. "See, my mommy will fix it," she said. "Now you get to be in second grade with us!"

Kurt took a deep shuddering breath and scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, trying to smile. Now he finally would get to see what is was like to be on that big shiny stage.

He followed the second graders into the school and into the auditorium, but his courage failed him when the stage loomed above him. Maybe he didn't belong there. Maybe he needed to just run right back to tutoring and Miss Janey. Oh, he didn't know what to do.

He took a step back, but he felt Mrs. Trevelyan wrap an arm around his shoulders. "I talked to your teacher and your tutor," she said. "They said it was okay with them if you wanted to come to rehearsal. You can go tutoring during morning recess instead."

He didn't know if he should be excited or scared. The stage looked so much more terrifying the closer it got. Mrs. Trevelyan seemed to notice his anxiety; she wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders as she directed the other students into place.

Kurt sucked absently on his thumb as they filtered into their spots. "We're doing Seussical the Musical this spring," Mrs. Trevelyan explained in between her called directions to the students onstage. "Have you read any Dr. Seuss? Like Cat in the Hat?"

He shrugged.

"Well, it's a very fun show. The second graders are playing the Whos. They're teeny little people on a world so small that they live on a speck of clover."

Kurt watched in interest, half-hidden behind Mrs. Trevelyan as she sat down at the piano. She played a few exercises that the other children sang noisily. Blaine kept jumping up and down and waving in between; Kurt waved back shyly.

Mrs. Trevelyan beckoned to Kurt and handed him a large white book. "Honey, I have a very special job for you," she said. "I know you're still learning to read, but I think you can do this. I need you to be the prompter."

He looked up at her, blinking. She smiled. "Whenever someone forgets their line, they'll shout 'line,' and I want you to read it out to them in a nice clear voice, okay?" she said.

Kurt nodded solemnly, balancing the large book on his knees. The newfound sense of responsibility was a little daunting, but he was starting to feel the slightest bit excited.

And he felt special.

* * *

><p>"…and, and then the boy, he was Horton, he forgot his line, and I got to tell him what it was," Kurt said, skipping alongside Sammy with one little hand on the dog's golden head. "I was too quiet the first time I said it, and I had to say it louder, but she said I did perfect."<p>

Burt glanced down at the little boy hopping happily beside him and grinned to himself. He'd never seen Kurt so giddy. The child had been bouncing in glee since he'd been picked up from school. It took a while to figure what exactly had made Kurt so happy, but he'd slowly gathered it was something about the school play.

Kurt continued to babble happily with his hand on Sammy's head; the dog periodically squirmed towards him in an attempt to give him an affectionate lick. The three of them walked down the sidewalks in Burt's neighborhood, the light spring breeze ruffling Kurt's soft hair and the budding leaves overhead. Burt kept a firm grip on Sammy's leash as the overenthusiastic dog tried to wander into nearby yards.

"So are you happy?" Burt asked.

"Uh-huh," the little boy said, nodding vigorously. "I get to see Miss Janey in the morning instead of going to recess, and I get to go to music with Blaine and Finn and Lucy. I like listening to music, Mister Burt."

"Yeah?" he said. "What kind of music?"

"Everything!" Kurt said happily. He paused and wrinkled his nose. "Well, maybe not the twangy stuff on the radio."

"What, you don't like Kenny Chesney?" Burt said. "Everybody likes Kenny Chesney." Kurt screwed up his face further and shook his head, and Burt laughed. "Well, you don't have to like him."

They rounded the corner and reached their street. Burt wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders as they headed towards the house. "You still hungry?" he asked. "Or are you still full from dinner?"

"Still full," Kurt said. Burt squeezed his shoulder. The kid was eating more than he had when he first arrived, but he still didn't eat much. At least he didn't look quite so thin anymore.

He unlocked the front door and let Kurt jump into the house, then unhooked Sammy's leash and patted the dog's head. "You wanna get ready for bed?" Burt asked.

"Still awake!" Kurt chirped, hopping on one foot.

Burt grinned. "All right, all right," he said.

He headed up the stairs, Kurt still hopping behind him. The little boy followed him down the hall, but paused at the door to the master bedroom, digging the toe of his sneaker into the carpet.

Burt glanced back and smiled. "Come on, you can come in," he said, gesturing him forward. "You're allowed. Just don't mess with anything."

Kurt peeked around the doorframe and inched into the room. It wasn't a very fancy room- light green walls, plain heavy maple furniture, an unmade bed with a crumpled quilt. Burt sat down at the edge of his bed and plucked at his shoelaces. "It's not much to look at," he commented.

Kurt tiptoed into the room, head tilted to the side. He seemed particularly focused, and Burt followed his gaze. His heart sank.

The little boy was headed right for the vanity. Mollie's vanity.

It wasn't much at all, really, just a little white vanity with two drawers and an oval mirror and a matching stool covered in light pink fabric. He couldn't bear to touch it after she died, so it was still the same as it had been the night she died- her mismatched nail polishes, her tubes of lipstick, her silver-handled hairbrush- all dusted clean.

Kurt sidled up to the vanity and peeped into the mirror. His eyes were wide as he solemnly regarded his reflection, his eyes shining in a mix of blue and green and gray. One tiny hand timidly touched one round drawer knob. "Mister Burt, is this yours?" he asked.

"No," he said shortly.

Kurt glanced over his shoulder at him. "Is it your mommy's?" he asked.

Burt hid a grin. "Nope," he said.

"Whose is it?"

The grin faded. He couldn't keep it a secret forever. "It's Mollie's," he said.

Kurt frowned. "Who's Mollie?" he asked.

Burt folded his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. "Mollie was my wife," he said gently.

Kurt's face lit up. "I didn't know you had a wife!" he said. He looked around, as if Burt had simply stowed her away somewhere. "Can I meet her? Is she nice?"

Burt's heart broke. He wished Mollie was there. Mollie would have doted on Kurt. She would have figured out all of his favorite foods and willingly played with him and soothed him in the middle of the night when he had bad dreams- because he knew, he heard Kurt crying out in his sleep in the throes of bad dreams, but he was helpless to do anything but stand in the hallway and wait till he quieted. But Mollie would have cuddled him and kissed him and rocked him back to sleep.

"Mollie's not here, buddy," Burt said. He beckoned to the little boy; Kurt walked up to him, confused. "Mollie…my wife died two years ago."

"She died?" Kurt whispered.

Burt nodded. He tugged Kurt towards him, his big hands on the child's tiny waist. "She was driving home from teaching a piano lesson," he said. "Another car hit a big puddle and slid right into hers. She was hurt real bad."

"So she died?" Kurt said.

"Yeah, kiddo," Burt said. "She died."

He decided not to mention anything about the baby.

Kurt's blue eyes watered. "I'm really sorry, Mister Burt," he said, tangling one small hand in Burt's sleeve. "I bet she's in heaven, though. Mommy says that if you're really, really good you get to go to heaven."

"I bet she's in heaven too," Burt said. He forced a smile and patted Kurt's back. "You'd better go get ready for bed, kiddo."

Kurt nodded solemnly and headed out of the room. Burt sighed heavily and rested his head in his hands.

He really didn't like to think about Mollie. The whole first year after her death he'd wandered around in a fog, unable to put two thoughts together without her interrupting. If it hadn't been for the steady routine of working in the garage in the morning and walking Sammy at night, he probably wouldn't have been able to function.

Especially since he lost the baby too.

Mollie had loved being pregnant. She loved the strange cravings, the way her baby bump had begun to form, all of the plans she had in place. He'd thrown out the name book she'd so carefully highlighted with her favorite choices, but he knew her favorites. Gabriel for a boy, Alice for a girl. They had gone to an ultrasound appointment just a week before the accident and found out they were expecting a boy. Mollie had been delighted. She went out and bought that stupid blue baby blanket right away and draped it over her old rocking chair, teasing Burt about teaching their little boy how to fix cars and sighing over nursery plans.

She would have been a perfect mother.

Burt waited for the thickness in his throat to subside before walking down the hall towards the bathroom. Kurt was brushing his teeth in front of the mirror, already dressed in his pajamas.

Burt leaned against the doorframe and studied him. The little boy was still thin- he'd probably always be thin- but at least he didn't look as hollow and gaunt as he used to. His hair was brushed carefully, neat and shining, and he'd scrubbed his face clean till his cheeks were pink. His eyes were too large and too bright in his pale face, but they were still the most arresting feature about him- clear, bright, and vividly colored.

So much like Mollie's eyes.

Kurt stood on tiptoes to spit in the sink and rinse out his toothbrush. "I'm ready for bed, Mister Burt," he said.

"Well, go on, get under the covers," he said.

He followed him into the little blue bedroom down the hall and picked the book up as Kurt burrowed under the covers. "So where were we?" Burt asked as he sat down beside him.

Kurt hugged his stuffed rabbit to his chest and cuddled into Burt's side. "They were on the rock," he said. "Remember? They saved Tiger Lily."

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Burt said, opening the book. Kurt peered over his arm to look at the pictures as Burt read aloud.

He read through the next chapter, Kurt pressing closer as the situation in the story grew more and more dire. It wasn't until he finished the section and closed the book that he realized that Kurt was practically sitting on his lap. Burt cleared his throat and lifted Kurt off his knees. "All right, buddy, time to sleep," he said.

He lifted the covers so Kurt could snuggle into bed, but the little boy tugged on his sleeve instead. "Mister Burt, I hafta tell you something," he whispered.

"Yeah?" Burt said. "What's that?"

Kurt trailed his fingers across his comforter. "I didn't have any accidents last night," he said, both ashamed and proud at the same time.

"You didn't?" Burt said. "Kiddo, that's great. I'm proud of you."

Kurt looked up, his eyes shining. "Really?" he said.

Burt grinned, cupping Kurt's chin in one big hand. "Really," he said. "Now go to sleep."

Kurt crawled under the covers and laid back with a smile, Big Bun still cuddled in his arms. "Goodnight, Mister Burt," he said cheerfully.

"Goodnight, kiddo," Burt said. "See you in the morning."

Kurt responded with a huge happy-sounding yawn, and Burt smiled to himself as he closed the door most of the way and turned out the lights.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

At last! A new chapter of Goodnight!

If the last chapter was like pulling teeth, this chapter was like Chinese water torture. I've been getting some super nasty reviews both here and on Tumblr, and it really sucked away the joy I have in writing this story. I know a lot of you are upset that I'm not making the details of CPS perfect enough, but I'm not an expert. I'm doing the best I can. Plus, I'm basing this on a book that's set in World War II, which means some things have to be sacrificed in order to adapt the original plot.

However, an incredibly wonderful reviewer, beonmyrightankle, has experience with CPS and has offered to be my consultant. Thanks to her smarts and prompt message replies, this chapter fell into place, and future chapters are going to be pretty awesome (I hope). So, all of those who were mad at me...hopefully you shall be appeased!

I also want to thank Katelyn (rnstudentandagleek on Tumblr, katexbo on ff) who has very kindly allowed me to take up her askbox with chapter previews and panicked flails. She is a sweetheart and I love her.

But yeah! So. Here's the new chapter...and here's hoping that the next one comes along swimmingly. (I've already written two pages, so yay! Fingers crossed!)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt sat beside Mrs. Trevelyan, swinging his little legs back and forth, the script balanced on his knees. He waited patiently for rehearsal to start, but it didn't look like it was going well.<p>

"Where's Jesse?" Mrs. Trevelyan called. "We can't rehearse without Jesse."

Another third grade boy raised his hand. "He puked in math class," he reported. "I think the office sent him home."

Mrs. Trevelyan sighed heavily. Kurt shifted uneasily and put his thumb in his mouth. He didn't like it when people got stressed. Stressed people usually turned into angry people, and angry people liked to hit.

"So Jesse's not here?" she asked. The kids on stage shook their heads. She sighed again and looked down at Kurt, resting her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. "Kurt, sweetie, I know you're shy, but I need you to do me a favor."

She bent down to his level. "We need to practice the song between Horton and Jojo, and you're the only one who knows the script all the way through. Can you go up there and sing Jojo's part? You don't have to sing loud at all, just so that Brian can practice singing his Horton solo."

Kurt shrank into himself a little bit, sucking hard on his thumb. Mrs. Trevelyan smiled at him, the tense lines around her eyes relaxing, and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "Honey, I'm not angry," she said. "You can say no if you want to. You don't have to do it."

Kurt surveyed the broad stage. Slowly he drew his thumb out of his mouth and wiped it on the hem of his shirt. "Okay," he whispered.

Mrs. Trevelyan straightened. "You're sure, honey?" she said. She cupped Kurt's chin in her hands. "I don't want to force you. You really don't have to do it."

"I want to," he said. "I wanna sing."

She smiled. "Well, get up on the stage, sweetie," she said.

Kurt set the script down and scooted off the edge of his seat. He headed up the steps to the stage and took the spot where Jojo always stood for the "Alone in the Universe" song. His heart beat a little quicker as the rehearsal pianist started the introduction. He really loved listening to the music; sometimes he even caught himself humming along. And he had always wanted to try singing it.

The fifth grader who played Horton started singing first on the opposite end of the stage. Kurt twisted his fingers together, trying to think like Jojo. Jojo felt small and unimportant, like he was all alone. He knew what that felt like. Unconsciously he drooped his little shoulders, looking down at the floor.

When the cue for his solo started, he began to sing without thinking, facing the audience. His voice was soft and halting at first, but his shyness faded away. He sang louder and brighter, his narrow little chest filling up with sound.

The boy who played Horton cut in with his line. "Hello? Hello?" he said, cupping his hands around the clover he was supposed to be holding in his hands.

Kurt answered him with his line, but he wasn't Kurt anymore, he was Jojo. "Hello?" he called back, tilting his head to the side.

"Who's there?" Horton blurted out.

"Me," Kurt piped up. "Jojo. The Mayor's son."

He recited all of the lines perfectly. After all, he'd spent every rehearsal sitting by Mrs. Trevelyan with the script on his knees, mouthing along to every line and chiming in when someone missed a cue. And he knew all the music by heart too; it made his heart beat faster to sing on that beautiful stage.

The scene ended abruptly and he sank down on his heels, suddenly disappointed to realize that he was still just plain old Kurt, not teeny Jojo with a huge imagination who lived on a clover. He pouted. All he wanted was to do it again.

He blinked. The whole theater had gone silent. His tummy flipflopped. "Did I do okay?" he said, his voice sounding small.

"Kurt, honey, that was beautiful," Mrs. Trevelyan said. She approached the stage and beckoned him forward. He obeyed, sitting on the edge. "Why didn't you tell me you had such a pretty voice?"

He fidgeted anxiously. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Mommy doesn't like it when I sing."

She squeezed his knees. "Sweetie, you are very talented," she said.

He bit the tip of his thumb. "Really?" he said.

"Really," she reassured him. "Do you want to do the rest of the scene?"

He stopped to think about it, pondering his options. "Uh-huh," he finally said. He scrambled to his feet, smiling. "I wanna sing."

* * *

><p>Burt grabbed the phone off the receiver, interrupting mid-ring. "Hello, Hummel's Tire and Lube, Burt speaking," he said absently.<p>

"Mr. Hummel? This is Annie Trevelyan, Lucy's mom. I'm Kurt's music teacher at school."

"Yeah, hi," he said. "Kurt's doing all right in class, right? He's not acting up?"

"Oh, no, he's doing wonderfully," she reassured him.

Burt relaxed a little. "He's been telling me all about how he's filling in for the kid who's been absent," he said. "He loves it. Never thought he'd turn out to be a performer type."

"Well, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Annie said. "Kurt's been filling in for the role of Jojo the past week, and it turns out the little boy who had been playing the part has the chicken pox and won't be able to be in the show. I don't have anyone else but Kurt who can play the part, so I was wondering…would you be all right with Kurt being in the show?"

"As long as he wants to do it, I guess," Burt said, surprised. "I don't have to pay anything for it, right?"

"No, no, not at all," Annie said. "The show goes up next weekend, so if you can bring him to the auditorium on Friday and Saturday nights at five o'clock to get ready for the show, that's all you need to do."

"Well, he's right here, let me ask him," Burt said. He covered the receiver. "Kurt! C'mere, kiddo."

The little boy zipped across the garage towards him. He was dressed in a button-up shirt and his overalls again, and there was a smudge of grime smeared across one cheek. "Uh-huh?" Kurt said.

Burt sat down in his office chair and beckoned the little boy forward. "You like practicing in that play, right?" he said. Kurt nodded eagerly. "You wanna play it for real?"

Kurt's eyes widened. "In the real show?" he breathed. "I get to be Jojo?"

"As long as you want to do it," Burt said. "You want to, kiddo?"

Kurt could only nod eagerly like a very small bobblehead. "I wanna," he said. "Mister Burt, I wanna do it so bad."

Burt grinned, reaching out to ruffle Kurt's hair, and he picked the phone up again. "Annie?" he said. "Yeah, he wants to do it."

"That's fantastic," Annie said, relieved. "Oh, I'm so glad. Jesse's costume is way too big for him, but we'll figure something out. Okay, thank you so much, Mr. Hummel."

"Don't mention it," he said, grinning. "Talk to you soon." He hung up the phone. "Well, kiddo, you get to- Kurt?"

The little boy had his hands over his face. Burt tugged them away to see tears welling up in Kurt's blue eyes. "What's wrong, kiddo?" he said. "Why're you crying?"

"I'm really happy, Mister Burt," Kurt sobbed. "I like to sing. I didn't know it, but I like to sing."

Burt chuckled softly and lifted Kurt onto his knee. The little boy cuddled into his chest, struggling to contain his tears. "Well, if you like to sing, then you sing, buddy," he said. "I'm not gonna stop you."

* * *

><p>"…I need the Wickersham brothers on stage, please, we need to rehearse…"<p>

Kurt huddled in a corner of the greenroom. He hadn't been prepared for how noisy and crazy it was going to be during the last few rehearsals before the show started. People were running around everywhere, shouting and arguing, and he didn't like it at all.

He crawled under the prop table, hugging his knees to his chest, and wiped at his running nose. All he wanted was to stop crying, but he just couldn't calm down, no matter how many deep breaths he took. He hadn't meant to miss his line, he really hadn't. But he forgot what to say.

He felt someone scoot under the table next to him, but he didn't look up from his knees. "Why are you crying?" he heard Lucy whisper.

He shook his head and scooted further away. She patted his back. "Are you sick?" she asked.

"Go 'way," he said, his voice muffled.

Lucy continued to stroke his back, her small hand patting up and down. "This is what my mommy does when I'm sick," she said. "Does it make you feel better?"

"No," he said. He rubbed a tear track off his cheek. "I messed up. I messed up, and now your mommy won't let me be in the play anymore."

Lucy frowned. "She won't make you leave just because you didn't know all the words," she said. "You're doing really good. And your voice is pretty." Her frown deepened as she kept rubbing his back. "You're sure this doesn't make you feel better?"

"No," he said stubbornly.

Lucy sighed. "I want you to feel better," she said.

At her sympathy, Kurt leaned his cheek against her shoulder. She beamed happily and rested her cheek against the top of his head. "See? Better, right?" she said.

"A little," he sighed.

They cuddled together under the safety of the prop table. Kurt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Lucy's small fingertips against his back were beginning to soothe him.

A pair of white sneakers appeared in their line of vision. "Kurt? Lu? Where'd you go?"

"We're under the table, Blaine," Lucy piped up cheerfully.

Blaine poked his curly head under the table. "Hi!" he said. He frowned. "Are you playing a game? Why wasn't I invited?"

"We're not playing, Kurt just needs love," Lucy said, patting Kurt's head.

Blaine brightened and slid under the table beside them. "I can do that," he said, cuddling close to Kurt's other side. Kurt heaved a heavy sigh and scooted to lie down with his head resting on Lucy's knees. Lucy began to pet his hair.

"This is nice," Blaine commented, rocking on his heels, and Kurt heaved a sigh, some of the tension in his tiny chest finally fading away.

* * *

><p>Burt shifted in his seat. The elementary school auditorium was uncomfortably crowded and far too noisy. He glanced around and fiddled with his program. Kurt's name was printed up in the cast list in bold letters, and he kept looking down at it to remind himself that <em>you're here for Kurt, he need you to be here.<em>

"Is this seat taken?"

He glanced up to see Carole smiling at him. "Uh…no," he said, scooting over to make room. "You here to see Finn?"

"He's been so nervous," she sighed as she set her purse on the floor under her seat. "He's not the most graceful little boy. The dancing makes him anxious."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Burt snorted.

"How's Kurt been doing?" Carole asked. "Finn says he has a beautiful voice."

"He won't sing at home, but he's been telling me how excited he is," Burt said. "I just hope he does good."

The lights dimmed and they fell silent. A hush fell over the auditorium. Burt shifted uneasily his seat.

_Just let him do good, _he found himself praying. _Just let him do good._

The opening song was big and lively, the stage filling with overeager elementary school students, and Burt found himself searching through the ensemble for Kurt. He vaguely recognized some of the characters- everybody knew the Cat in the Hat, after all- but he didn't really care about them.

Suddenly he spotted him- the tiniest actor on the stage, dressed in bright yellow shorts, suspenders, and a striped shirt. Kurt was smiling brightly, his round cheeks rosy as he sang along with the other kids, and Burt relaxed. He looked happy, and that was all that he cared about.

When the number was over, Kurt ran offstage with most of the other actors, and he didn't show up for a couple more scenes. Burt bided his time glancing at the program. Theater really wasn't his thing, especially theater starring kids under the age of thirteen. Judging by the myriad of parents waving at the stage or holding up video cameras, few other shared his thoughts.

The second graders came trooping onstage for their big number, and Burt grinned as Carole brightened at the sight of her son. Finn, already a head taller than most of his classmates, seemed a little gawky and out of place in comparison, but he sang and danced along just fine- albeit in the back.

The two older children who played the mayor and his wife stayed onstage at the end of the song, and Burt sat up as Kurt walked onstage. The contrast was striking. While most of the other children in the cast seemed uncomfortable or shy, Kurt seemed entirely unconscious of the audience watching him. He said all of his lines in a bright clear voice, adding a pout or a smile at the right moments, and Burt just stared at him.

_There's no way that's my kid, _he thought.

And then Kurt started to sing, and his jaw dropped further.

There were some days when he wasn't sure Kurt could even talk, and now, here he was, singing beautifully. It was like he was an entirely different child.

He felt Carole grab his arm. "Burt, he's so talented," she whispered. He nodded dumbly.

The show went on, but all he could focus on was Kurt. The little boy stole every scene he was in, no matter how well anyone else did. The change was astonishing.

Burt leaned forward in his seat, program abandoned on the floor, as the show drew to a climax. Horton the elephant (a bigger kid in an oversized gray suit) was trying to save the little clover full of tiny Whos from getting boiled in oil. The small horde of second graders jumped up and down, shrieking "we are here! We are here!" at the top of their lungs. He could see Blaine hopping up and down and Lucy cupping her little hands around her mouth.

Suddenly the older kids who played the mayor and his wife pushed Kurt forward, front and center. He looked so small and so scared that for a second Burt forgot he was playing a part in a play- maybe he should go up there and get him.

But the Whos were still chanting for attention, and little Kurt planted his feet, squared his shoulders, and balled up his fists. And then all of a sudden he yelled out the loudest scream Burt had ever heard from a child that tiny, the sound echoing across the auditorium as the music screeched to a halt.

Kurt straightened, looking around at the other kids, and beamed. They all started cheering; Burt leaned back in his seat, grinning to himself. The kid was turning out to be full of surprises.

The show was nearly over by then, and it wasn't long before the kids were running out for the curtain call. Carole was on her feet almost immediately as the second graders ran out, cheering and clapping. Burt stood up too, scanning the crowd for his own little guy.

Kurt was one of the last ones to take his bow. He ran out on his own to the edge of the stage and then froze, his blue eyes huge, as if he just now realized that people had been staring at him.

"Yeah, Kurt," Burt called. His voice was barely discernable over the noisy clapping, but somehow Kurt seemed to zero in on him. The little boy brightened, his smile stretching over his entire face, and he swept a deep bow. Burt clapped till his hands hurt.

When the stage cleared and the lights came up, Burt waited in his seat till the kids started spilling out into the auditorium. Carole kept searching for Finn in the crowd, until finally the lanky eight-year-old darted towards them and threw his arms around his mother.

"Did you see me, Mom?" he crowed. "Didja?"

"I did, baby," Carole laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Finn's head. "You did so good. I'm so proud."

"I didn't even fall off the stage," Finn boasted.

Burt glanced around, looking for Kurt. He finally spotted the little boy lost in the crowd, wandering around lost and uncertain. "Kurt!" he called. "Kiddo, over here!"

Kurt brightened and ran over to him. "Mister Burt, you came!" he said, raising his arms to be picked up.

"I sure did," Burt said, scooping him up easily. The little boy felt light and delicate in his arms. "You're a star, kiddo."

"Really?" Kurt breathed.

Burt leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. "Really," he said. "Buddy, you sing whenever you want, all right?"

Kurt smiled happily, tangling his little fingers in the collar of Burt's shirt. "Okay," he said in a little voice.

Carole reached for Kurt, and to Burt's surprise the little boy leaned out of his arms to give her a hug. "Sweetie, you have the prettiest voice I've ever heard," she said. "You sound like an angel."

"Really?" Kurt said, resting his hands on Carole's shoulders. "I like singing. It's fun to be somebody else. Was I funny? I wanted to be funny."

She brushed the tip of her nose against his. "You were so funny, my little man," she said.

Burt surveyed them- Carole deep in conversation with little Kurt, Finn holding onto her sleeve and adding his own funny little interjections. They looked like a family, and unwittingly Burt found himself, for the first time since his wife's death, wishing that he had a family of his own.

_Maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask Carole out on a date or something, _he thought, smiling to himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Gaaaah, little Kurt playing Jojo. I am dead.

If you haven't seen the show or listened to it, I highly recommend it! Plus, you can envision little Kurt singing all of Jojo's songs and bellowing the loud "yopp!" and omg, my mental images are absolutely adorable.

And look! There's Barole! An actual hint of Barole. I ship Barole like the fist of God. Well, I also ship Bollie, but since Mollie's dead...I ship Barole.

But alas, not all will be well for the little family in the making. Shit's going to hit the fan in the next chapter. Prepare yourself now.

I also want to thank everybody for being so kind and sending me all kinds of encouragement! It really perked me up. I know a lot of it is my own dad-blamed fault- I'm too sensitive for my own good and I take everything way too seriously. But people have been super nice, and I appreciate all of that.

Also! I forgot to do this earlier, but Terrible Spy also suggested in a review that I should the Velveteen Rabbit in here somewhere, so thanks to them too for the suggestion! That story's going to come back into play later as well...

Chapter eleven is already in progress, so hopefully you won't have to wait too long for that! And I'm going to post the first chapter of my Christmas special this afternoon too- I have a chapter for every day from now till Christmas. I hope you're excited for it!


	11. Chapter 11

__Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p><em>June<em>

"Kurt, you promised," Lucy pouted. "You promised that if I had a pool party for my birthday, you would come swimming."

Kurt stood at the edge of the concrete rimming the pool, twisting his bare little toes in the lush early-summer grass. "I don't know," he hedged, hitching up his slightly-too-large swim trunks. "I've never gone swimming."

"C'mon, it's fun!" Blaine hollered, splashing with abandon, the water wings strapped to his arms keeping him afloat in the deep end.

"I don't know," Kurt said again, still hesitating. "Is it deep? It looks deep."

"Nah-uh," Finn said from his vantage point in the shallow end. "My feet touch the bottom. See?"

"That's 'cause you're a giant, Finn," Lucy said seriously. "Kurt is little. He's littler than me, even."

"Am not," Kurt said, eyebrows drawing down.

Blaine paddled up to the edge of the pool and pulled himself up. "You can borrow my floaties if you want," he offered. "Mama only makes me wear them when I'm in the deep part. But I can go to the shallow end and we can play."

"Do I have to?" Kurt said warily.

Blaine paused in shaking out his wet curls like a puppy. "Well, no," he said. "But it's fun. Do you want to play?"

Kurt bit his lip. "I guess," he said.

Blaine perked up and wrestled the water wings off his arms and onto Kurt's. "See? Now you can stay afloat," he said. "You won't sink."

"You promise?" Kurt said warily.

"Promise," Blaine said. "And Finn will help. Right, Finn?"

"Right!" Finn hollered, still gleefully thrashing around in the shallow end.

Kurt allowed Blaine to take him by the hand and lead him to the edge of the pool, the pavement scorching under his little bare feet. "You're sure I won't sink?" Kurt ventured.

"I'm sure," Blaine said. He clasped both of Kurt's hands and walked him back towards the water. "See? It's shallow. Put your feet in, it's nice."

Kurt gingerly dipped a toe in the water. Blaine was right; it was soothing and cool on his sun-baked skin. "See?" Blaine said. He held tightly to Kurt's hand. "Keep going."

Kurt waded through the water, letting it slosh over his feet and ankles. He gripped Blaine's fingers tightly. "Do you like it?" Blaine asked eagerly.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "Am I gonna fall?"

"Nope," Blaine said. He laughed as the water splashed up to their knees. "Don't worry, it's fun."

Pool water lapped up to the edges of his swim trunks. He smiled and took another step deeper into the pool. "This isn't too scary," he said.

"Yay!" Lucy crowed, clapping her hands. She bobbed over to them, the tips of her long red pigtails drabbling in the water. "Yay, now you're swimming!"

"You have to float!" Blaine said. "Get your toes up. The floaties will keep you from sinking."

"Nuh-uh," Kurt said, shaking his head fiercely. "I'm not gonna float."

"Yes, you will," Lucy coaxed, paddling her short legs. "We won't let you sink."

"See? I'll hold you," Blaine offered. He let go of Kurt's hands, making him shriek and flail at the surface of the water, but he wrapped his small arms around Kurt's waist tightly instead. "Now you won't sink!"

Kurt took a tentative kick at the water and giggled. Blaine's arms were tight around him, keeping him from sinking down into the water, and Lucy reached out to grab his hands.

"I like this," he announced, and Blaine let out a happy squeal.

* * *

><p><em>July<em>

Burt leaned back in his lawn chair, sighing in satisfaction. "Carole, that was fantastic," he said.

"Well, you were the one who manned the grill. I just added a couple of side dishes," Carole said, picking up the paper plates. "Oh, and there's pie. Do you want any?"

"Oh god, still too full," Burt said. "Give me an hour or so."

He leaned back a little further, grinning to himself as he surveyed the backyard. Kurt and Finn were playing an elaborate game of keep-away in the early twilight, tossing a neon orange Frisbee back and forth over Sammy's head. The dog barked happily and Kurt giggled. He was wearing a new striped red and white shirt with an anchor crest and navy shorts- new purchases, thanks to Carole who took him shopping a week ago- and he ran barefoot back and forth across the yard, his sandals abandoned on the patio next to Finn's sneakers.

"They get along pretty well, don't they?" Burt commented, smiling to himself as he watched the two little boys play.

"They do, surprisingly," Carole said. "Finn's so rough and tumble, but he's so gentle around Kurt."

Burt grinned. The summer had been kind to Kurt, touching his brown hair with golden highlights and sprinkling freckles liberally across his nose. He hadn't gotten much taller, but he was stronger and sturdier than he'd been just a few months earlier.

The little boys darted across the yard, Kurt pink-cheeked and panting from exertion. "Mom, the fireflies are coming out!" Finn said. "Do we have some jars? Mommy, can we catch the fireflies?"

"Sure," Carole said. "They're in the kitchen, honey, in the cabinet under the sink."

They ran into the house, Kurt trotting along at Finn's heels. "I bet Kurt's never done that before," Burt commented. "God, it feels like half the time with that kid, I'm coaxing him through something new."

"He's finally catching up to his peers," Carole said. "He's been behind for so long, and he didn't even know it."

"His tutor says he's doing pretty well," Burt said. "He's reading up to his age level, and he's got his times tables memorized."

Carole patted his arm as she sat down in the lawn chair beside Burt. "He's a smart little boy," she said. "I hope he gets into the third grade in the fall."

"Me too," Burt said fervently.

Carole leaned back in her chair. "Do you think he'll still be here in the fall?" she asked.

"No clue," Burt shrugged. "The last thing I want is for him to go back to his mother, but there's not much I can do about it."

"Is the social worker-"

"She's looking into it," Burt said grimly. "She stops by once a month, talks to Kurt for a minute or two, takes a picture, and books it out of here. But she at least promised to scope out the situation with his mother."

The two little boys ran back out of the house and they ended their conversation abruptly. "We couldn't find any jars, Mommy, so we're just gonna play with Sammy," Finn said.

He jogged into the yard, the dog barking in joy at his return. Kurt lingered by the sliding glass door that led to the kitchen. "Carole?" he ventured.

She turned around in her chair. "What, honey?" she smiled.

"Can I sit on your lap?" he whispered.

"Of course, sweetie," she said. "Any time you want."

Kurt brightened and crawled onto Carole's lap, dropping his head against her shoulder and tucking up his little bare feet. Carole patted his back with the easy practice of an experienced mother, pressing her cheek to his forehead.

A loud noise cracked overhead and Kurt jumped in Carole's arms. "Mommy, what's that?" Finn hollered.

"It's just fireworks, baby," Carole called. She rubbed Kurt's back soothingly. "Kurt, have you seen fireworks before?"

"Nah-uh," Kurt said, glancing back over his shoulder. More fireworks cracked overhead; Finn stopped to stare in awe. "Ooh. I like the blue ones."

Carole smiled and kissed the top of his head. Burt grinned to himself. Maybe it was time to talk to Carole about what exactly they were getting into. And maybe he could take her out on a date that didn't involve their respective children.

* * *

><p><em>August<em>

"Mister Burt, I'm scared," Kurt whispered.

Burt glanced up. "Why're you so scared?" he asked.

The little boy lingered in the doorway of the living room, his big rabbit tucked under his arm. "Did Miss Janey call?" he said. "Did she call yet?"

"Nope," Burt said. "No call yet." He beckoned to Kurt. "C'mere. Tell me why you're scared."

Kurt edged a little closer. "If I didn't pass the tests Miss Janey gave me, I don't get to be in the third grade," he said.

Burt sighed. "Okay, buddy, c'mere," he said. "All the way here." He lifted Kurt onto his lap. "You're getting big, aren't you?"

"Is that bad?" Kurt said.

Burt laughed. "No, it just means you're getting healthier," he said. He adjusted Kurt on his knees, letting him lean back in the crook of his arm. "Okay. So tell me why you're scared."

"I wanna be in the third grade," Kurt whispered. "Really bad."

"Well, can you read all right?" Burt asked.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said.

"Can you write?"

"Uh-huh, but not cursive," Kurt said.

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna learn that till next year anyway," Burt reassured him. "Can you do math?"

"I know all my times tables," Kurt said proudly. "'Cept the nines. Nines are hard."

Burt squeezed Kurt's knee. "So you know all that," he said. "Did you do your best when Miss Janey gave you those tests?"

"Uh-huh, I tried really hard," Kurt said.

"Then either you got into the third grade, or you're just not ready and you're gonna keep working till you get there," Burt said. "You've been working as hard as you can, and you're a good kid whether or not you get into third grade." He ruffled Kurt's hair, earning a scowl from the child.

"I'll still be good?" Kurt asked warily as he smoothed his hair down.

"You'll still be good," Burt reassured him. He slid Kurt off his lap and gave him a gentle push towards the backyard. "Go out back and play with Sammy. He needs his exercise. Don't think I haven't seen you feeding him scraps under the table. He's getting fat."

_And you need more time playing outside, _he added mentally as Kurt reluctantly pulled on his sandals and clapped for the golden retriever. The kid had been spending way too much time inside with his workbooks and flashcards in the weeks leading up to his third grade entrance testing. He was getting that pinched, anxious look again, and Burt didn't like it one bit.

And truth be told, he was just as nervous as Kurt for the impending phone call, and he didn't want the kid around when it happened, just in case it was bad news.

He wandered aimlessly around the house, stacking Kurt's schoolbooks on the coffee table and throwing his work shoes in the garage. The phone was never very far away, just in case it rang, but he did cross to the dining room window to check on the kid. Kurt seemed to be acting something out, using the affable dog as a stand-in for his mortal enemy, and Burt grinned to himself. The little boy really seemed to like that theater stuff; Burt laughed as Kurt staggered around the yard faking a dramatic death, quickly ruined by Sammy licking his cheek and making him laugh.

The phone jangled. Burt picked it up hastily. "Hello, Hummel residence," he said.

"Hi, Mr. Hummel! This is Janey Summers, Kurt's tutor."

"Yeah, hi," he said. "This about Kurt's entrance tests?"

"Yes," she said cheerfully. "He did very well. He's reading right at a third-grade level, and his comprehension is good. His math skills are actually above average. Most children his age aren't as proficient at multiplication as he is."

"Yeah, except for the nines, he's not very good at the nines," Burt said. "So…is he going to the third grade or what?"

"Mr. Hummel, Kurt is definitely going to start the third grade in the fall," the tutor said happily. "He's still going to need tutoring to ensure that he isn't getting left behind in his classes, but I think that being in the third grade will be for the best for him, both academically and socially."

Burt grinned as she rattled off a few notes about the coming school year and promised to send him the needed supply lists and reading plans. "I'm gonna go tell him the good news," he said. "Thanks."

He hung up the phone and headed outside to the back patio. Kurt was tussling with Sammy in the backyard- well, as close as Kurt ever came to wrestling with the dog. It was mostly him bopping the dog lightly on the head and then running away while Sammy jogged after him. "Hey, kiddo," he called. "C'mere."

Kurt ran obediently over to him. Burt knelt down so they were eye-level. "Bud, what's your favorite food?" he asked.

Kurt frowned. "Apples?" he said, clearly trying to figure out where Burt was going with this and failing. His skeptical expression was veering on the bitchy side- a funny look on a child that small- and Burt struggled to control a laugh.

"No, no, kiddo, your favorite dinner food," he corrected.

The bitchy expression- mouth pursed, nose wrinkled, one eyebrow arching up- deepened. "Noodles?" Kurt said.

"Well, then we're going out to get noodles for dinner," Burt said. "Guess who's going into the third grade in the fall?"

Kurt's jaw dropped. "Me?" he gasped.

"Yes, you," Burt said. "Good job, bud."

Kurt let out an ear-piecing overjoyed shriek, jumping up and down and nearly kicking his sandals off. Sammy joined in with a couple noisy barks of his own. Burt started to laugh, and then suddenly Kurt flung himself into his arms, nearly knocking him off balance. He froze for a second, then smiled, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

* * *

><p><em>September<em>

"All right, I need all my third graders to get their lunchboxes and line up," the teacher called. Kurt slid out of his seat and ran for his cubby to pull out his brown paper sack. Finn grinned at him from the next-door cubby and held out his orange to trade. Kurt beamed.

"Kids, keep your lunch in your lunchboxes until we get to the cafeteria," the teacher warned.

"Do you have Nila wafers?" Finn whispered loudly in Kurt's ear.

"Yeah, but I can only trade some of them," Kurt whispered back. "I like Nila wafers a lot."

"Okay, but as long as I don't have to eat my orange," Finn shuddered. "I hate it when the little white pulpy things get stuck in my teeth."

Kurt held on tightly to his paper bag as they lined up and walked through the halls to the cafeteria. He could see Lucy's cheerful bow bobbing ahead of him, and he could hear the _tap-tap-tap _of Blaine's shiny shoes at the end of the line as he bounced. His shoulders relaxed.

Finn ambled over to their usual table and plunked down on an empty chair. "Are you sure you want your Nila wafers?" he said doubtfully. Kurt rolled his eyes and sat down beside him, unpacking the tupperware container full of leftover spaghetti that Mister Burt had packed him. Finn took the fruit out of his lunchbox and rolled it towards Kurt. "'Cause I _really _don't want this orange."

"You have to peel it," Kurt ordered, rolling the orange back towards Finn. "It gets stuck under my nails and I don't like it."

Finn opened his mouth to argue, but a bigger kid, a fourth grader, bumped into Kurt's chair hard, knocking him forward into the table. "Hey!" Finn protested.

The bigger kid smirked, his lips curling. "Hey, first grade baby," he jeered.

"Leave me alone," Kurt snapped. The older boy scowled, and Kurt faltered. "I'm not…not a baby."

The other kid elbowed Kurt sharply between the shoulders, driving him forward into his spaghetti. He came up sputtering, his eyes stinging. "Ow," he said helplessly. It didn't really hurt, but he blurted it out anyway. "Ow, why…why'd you do that?"

Finn jumped to his feet. "Leave him alone!" he said.

Kurt shrank into his seat, covering his face in his hands. He could hear the boys shouting, but he couldn't look. They were going to get in trouble, and then they would blame him, and then he would be in even more trouble.

"Boys, boys, stop fighting!" he heard a teacher say. "What's going on?"

"Finn was-"

"He pushed-"

Kurt curled up tightly into a ball, his hands covering his ears and his face pressed into his knees. They were arguing, and any second now they were going to turn on him.

A gentle hand tugged his hands away. "Kurt, sweetie, are you all right?" Mrs. Trevelyan asked. She picked up a napkin and dabbed at the marinara sauce splattered across his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't…"

"Honey, you didn't do anything wrong," Mrs. Trevelyan reassured him. She leaned back. "Blaine, can you go with Kurt to the bathroom and help him get cleaned up?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine said in a small, solemn voice. He took Kurt by the hand and tugged him off the chair. Kurt followed him blindly down the hall, staring down at his shoes.

Blaine pushed the door to the boys' bathroom open and gently pulled Kurt inside. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kurt said unhappily. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under the tap, then dabbed it on the splotch across the front of his shirt.

Blaine followed his lead, folding his paper towel into a little packet and wiping at the sauce in Kurt's hair. "I'm really sorry," he said.

Kurt raised and lowered one little shoulder. "You didn't do anything," he said.

"I know, but I'm sorry," Blaine insisted. "I'm sorry it happened." His lower lip stuck out as he pulled a glop of tomato out of Kurt's hair. "I don't like it when people do mean things to you. It's not fair."

Kurt scrubbed at his stained shirt until it faded until a pale pink, almost unnoticeable in the plaid print. Blaine threw the paper towels in the trashcan, then paused, frowning at Kurt. He leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Smile, okay?" he said.

"Okay," Kurt whispered, and as Blaine led him out of the bathroom his lips turned up just the tiniest bit.

* * *

><p><em>October<em>

"Don't run too far ahead," Mister Burt called. "You gotta stay where I can see you."

Finn ran eagerly down the sidewalk, his slightly-too-large Chicago Cubs cap sliding on his head and his candy bucket bouncing against his legs. "C'mon, you guys, the next house is awesome," he called. "Mrs. Hannigan always has the big candy bars."

"Wait for me!" Lucy puffed, the petticoats of her homemade Alice in Wonderland dress puffing around her like a blue and white mushroom. "Finn, c'mon, wait for me, my legs are littler than yours."

A plastic skeleton rattled noisily in the early-evening breeze and Kurt gave an involuntary jump, leaning closer to Blaine. "Don't be scared, it's not real," Blaine reassured him cheerfully. He held out his hand and Kurt took it eagerly, huddling closer to the safety of Blaine's side. "Sorry if my tail hits you. I don't mean it."

Kurt laughed. "You look funny as a dinosaur," he said.

Blaine grinned and wiggled his dinosaur tail. "I'm a T-Rex!" he said. "And you look silly as a bunny."

"I'm not a bunny, I'm the Velveteen Rabbit, 'member?" Kurt corrected, wrinkling his nose. Another Halloween decoration shrieked as they walked past and Kurt yelped.

"Kiddo, you're okay," Mister Burt reassured him from his spot on the sidewalk behind them.

"Halloween is kinda scary," Kurt whispered in Blaine's ear.

Blaine shrugged. "It's just pretend," he said. He squeezed Kurt's hand. "Nothing's gonna get us, I promise."

Kurt squeezed his hand back, their little fingers linked, and they followed Finn and Lucy up the walk to Mrs. Hannigan's house with Mister Burt trailing behind. They wandered up and down the cul-de-sac from house to house, filling up their plastic jack o'lantern candy buckets till they nearly spilled over.

"All right, kids, I think it's time to head in," Mister Burt called. "You've got enough candy to keep you sick till New Year's. Come on, let's go."

Kurt stifled a yawn. "Mister Burt, I'm tired," he whined.

Mister Burt glanced down and grinned at him. "You're tired, huh?" he said. "So what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Carry me?" Kurt said hopefully. "My feet hurt. I don't wanna walk."

"Well, I guess," Mister Burt said. He scooped Kurt up and set him on his hip; Kurt gripped the collar of his worn flannel shirt and rested his cheek against his shoulder, yawning heavily as they made their way back to the house.

"Mister Burt? Can I have some of my candy when we get home?" Kurt said.

"Just a piece or two," Mister Burt said. "You can have some tomorrow after school, okay?"

"I don't want the raisins, though," Kurt said. "One lady gave me raisins, and I don't like those."

"Fine, I'll eat your raisins," Mister Burt said, jostling Kurt a little bit as they headed up the walk to their house.

Finn ran ahead of them and pushed the door open. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" he hollered. "Mom, I got more candy than last year!"

"Yeah, but I got more than Finn!" Lucy objected, running at his heels.

"I got Reese's cups!" Blaine said. "And I'm not gonna share 'em."

Kurt opened his mouth to add his own two cents, but the words died on his lips as Miss Carole walked out of the kitchen. She didn't look happy, and Kurt clung tighter to Mister Burt's collar.

"Hi, kids," she said, clearly trying to smile but failing. "Did you have fun trick or treating?"

"Yeah, Mommy, I…" Finn's voice trailed off. "Mommy?"

Miss Carole twisted her fingers together. "Burt, the social worker called," she said.

Kurt felt Mister Burt's hand tighten against his narrow back. "What'd she say?" he asked, his voice low and quiet.

"Kurt's mother wants him back," Miss Carole whispered. "The social worker's going to pick him up tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Hey, everybody! I hope you all had excellent winter holiday celebrations! Mine was pretty awesome. My husband and I had a marvelous Christmas and we're finishing up our New Year's celebration with a traditional lasagna. (We celebrate our holidays with food 'round these parts.) Also, my sister got my the Lima Bean travel mug and I am _ecstatic_. And thanks for being so nice and patient with my brief hiatus! I wanted some time to myself this Christmas, and I had a marvelous time.

But yeah! Here's an update. And as you can probably imagine that things aren't going to go well from here. NO ONE WANTS KURT TO GO BACK TO HIS MOTHER. NO ONE.

I need to go cuddle something.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt? Kurt, sweetie, it's time to get up."<p>

He roused a little bit, rubbing his face into his pillow. A gentle hand patted his back, and he squinted up in the darkness to see Carole. "Honey, the social worker's going to be here in an hour to pick you up," she said, smoothing his sleep-mussed hair. "You need to get up and get ready."

He dragged himself into a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. "Do I hafta?" he mumbled, his voice scratchy from sleep.

She scooped him up, his stuffed rabbit slipping from his fingers as he dropped his head on her shoulder. "You hafta, pumpkin," she said, kissing his temple. "C'mon, I've already got your bath ready."

He hid his face in the crook of her neck, shielding his eyes from the warm light of the hallway as she carried him to the bathroom. She set him on the floor and he whimpered, his bare toes curling against the icy cold tile. "Take your bath," she said, kissing the top of his head. "You can have your breakfast as soon as you're done."

She closed the door and he sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping. He didn't want to go. He really didn't. Maybe if he dawdled, took too much time at his bath, the social worker would get fed up waiting for him and just leave, and then he could stay forever with Mister Burt.

"Kurt, if I don't hear splashing, then I'm going to come in and give you your bath myself."

He frowned, his lower lip sticking out, and reluctantly he took off his pajamas and got into the warm water. Idly he wondered if his mother would let him take baths when he got back to their old apartment. Usually she would just make him take showers, and she didn't turn the heat on at all. But maybe if he asked very nicely, he could still take baths and close his eyes and pretend he was home.

He stayed in the warm soapy water for as long as he dared, rinsing the shampoo clean from his hair, but finally the bubble dissipated and the water turned tepid, and he dried off and dressed in the clothes he'd picked out the night before.

He dragged a comb through his wet hair, parting it neatly and swooping it over his forehead, then placed it back carefully in the drawer. His stomach was beginning to tighten in anxiety. It had been so long since he'd seen his mother. Sometimes he could barely remember what she looked like. He knew she had long brown hair, sort of scraggly on the ends, and her hands were thin, the skin papery like a butterfly wing. But he couldn't remember what color her eyes were.

He made his way reluctantly down the stairs, his socks dragging on the carpet. His blue backpack was set against the door; he turned his head away and headed into the kitchen.

There was a bowl of oatmeal waiting for him, topped with peanut butter and cream and brown sugar. A lump slowly rose in his throat. His mother didn't make oatmeal like that. She didn't even make it for him- she just handed him a packet of instant stuff and let him make it himself. But he wasn't allowed to use the microwave or the stove, so it was always sticky and gross.

"Stop staring and come eat," Mister Burt said gruffly. "It's gonna get cold."

Kurt forced himself to walk towards the table and sit down. He dug his spoon into the oatmeal and took a bite. Slowly he worked it around and swallowed hard, but it stuck in his throat like glue.

He stared down at the bowl. It was a plain white bowl with red stripes around the edges, simple and lightweight and nonfussy. He was pretty sure Mister Burt didn't pick it out. Maybe Miss Mollie did. Maybe she picked it out when they were getting married, and nice people picked out this very bowl in a store and wrapped it up in shiny paper as a present for their wedding, and even though Miss Mollie was in heaven now, Mister Burt still used those dishes every single day. Maybe it reminded him of her.

The lump in Kurt's throat thickened and his vision blurred. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Mister Burt, who was still slamming around the pots and pans in the kitchen like he was mad at them. Mister Burt glanced back at him, his mouth set in a hard line. "You'd better finish your breakfast," he said.

"Can't," Kurt whispered, his voice rising despite himself.

"What's wrong? Stomach hurt?" Mister Burt asked, frowning as he walked over to him. He touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "You're not running a fever. Eat."

"I can't," he whispered, softer still.

Mister Burt touched his hand to Kurt's forehead again, but he paused and smoothed his hair back. "Go upstairs and brush your teeth then," he said. "I'll have Miss Carole pack a snack for you or something, okay?"

He nodded, wiping at his nose, and slid off his chair. The TV echoed as he passed the living room; Finn sprawled out on the couch beside Sammy, dozing off during a morning cartoon, and Kurt wished he could just curl up next to him and stay there all day.

But the social worker would be there soon. And he'd have to go.

He dragged himself up the stairs and peeked into his room. Miss Carole was still packing, folding his clothes and stacking them neatly in the red duffel bag she'd brought for him. She seemed sad, so he didn't stop.

He picked up his little purple toothbrush and squirted toothpaste onto the bristles. Dully he stared at his reflection as he brushed his teeth, his arm moving mechanically up and down. His stomach flipflopped unhappily, and he spat into the sink.

He didn't want to leave. He liked it here. He liked his purple toothbrush on the left side of the sink, he liked making up the covers of his cozy bed in the morning, he liked taking Sammy on walks, he liked doing his homework at the kitchen table every night. He liked Mister Burt.

"Kurt? Honey, you've got to hurry."

He rinsed his toothbrush and dropped it in the holder. Miss Carole was closing up the zipper on the duffel. "I've got all of your clothes in here," she said, closing up his dresser drawers. "Have you packed your toys?"

He gazed at the toys tucked neatly on the shelves. "Not yet," he said in a tiny voice.

Mommy didn't like toys.

Mister Burt cleared his throat; Kurt glanced back to see him standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. "Listen, kiddo, if you, uh, don't have enough room to pack all of your stuff, you just pack what you can fit," he said. "I can bring the rest of your things later, okay?"

The doorbell rang. Kurt froze.

"I'll get it," Carole said quietly. She patted the top of Kurt's head as she walked out of the room.

Kurt watched her go, ducking past Mister Burt into the hallway. Mister Burt looked down at him. "You all right, kiddo?" he asked quietly. Kurt shrugged. Mister Burt sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. "You wanna go see your mom?"

"No."

The words burst out of him before he could stop it and he ducked his head. Mister Burt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Kiddo, when you first came to live with me, your mom…she sent a note. Saying I could hit you if you misbehaved. And she had a belt." He leveled his gaze. "Does your mom hit you?"

"I can't," he whispered. "I can't."

Mister Burt put his hands on Kurt's narrow little shoulders. "I put some envelopes in your backpack," he said. "They've already got my address and a stamp on them. All you have to do is put a letter in it and stick it in a mailbox and it'll come right to me. Understand?" Kurt nodded. "And you remember our phone number, right?"

"Yeah, you made me mem'rize it," Kurt whispered.

"Well, you call me if you need me," Mister Burt said. "And you remember what I told you, okay? That if anyone ever tries to hurt you, or scare you, then you get away. You go someplace safe and get someone to help. Tell them to call me, and I'll come get you."

Kurt nodded, his throat tightening, and Mister Burt gripped his shoulders, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

"Kurt? The social worker's waiting for you."

Mister Burt let go of him and picked up the red bag. Kurt silently shouldered his backpack, and they headed down the stairs. Slowly he reached out and twined his tiny hand around Mister Burt's big rough fingers.

He could hear Miss Carole talking to the social worker and he slowed his steps. "We're concerned about his home situation. Is there anything we can do to keep him away from his biological parent?"

"We did a thorough investigation of the home and interviewed the mother," he heard the social worker say. "She's been very compliant. She's agreed to send Kurt to the local elementary school, and we'll be making regular visits to check on them."

Mister Burt tugged lightly on Kurt's hand. "C'mon, buddy, let's go," he said.

The social worker was waiting in the living room, the heavy lines around her eyes looking darker in the early morning. "Hi," she said. "You ready to go?"

"Just let him say goodbye," Mister Burt snapped.

Kurt swallowed hard. Miss Carole and Finn stood on the other side of the room, Finn half hidden behind his mother. Sammy was still on the couch, watching them carefully.

"Finn, baby, can you say goodbye?" Miss Carole said.

Finn hesitated. "Bye," he said at last.

"Bye," Kurt echoed, and Finn beat a hasty retreat to the couch. He didn't want to say goodbye to Finn- it was bad enough to say goodbye to Lucy and Blaine the night before. But someone Finn's mournful expression was worse than Lucy's tears and Blaine's feeble attempts to cheer him up. It was like he wanted to say goodbye, but he didn't know enough words to say it.

Miss Carole held out her arms for a hug and he went to her shyly. She felt like a mom, soft and comfortable, and she smelled like lotion and clean laundry. He rested his cheek against the shoulder of her soft sweater and closed his eyes.

"I'll miss you, my little man," she murmured, pressing her hand against the back of his head. "You be good, okay?"

"I'll try," he offered.

She kissed him several times on the cheek, as if she was stockpiling affection for him to take while he was away, and let go. He took a step back, his lower lip trembling.

Mister Burt cleared his throat. "You gonna say goodbye to me?" he asked.

Kurt turned towards him, his steps dragging against the carpet. He didn't want to say goodbye. He wasn't ready. Mister Burt hugged him around the shoulders, limp and not very reassuring.

"Come on, Kurt, we need to go," the social worker said.

He turned to pick up his backpack, then froze. "Wait!" he said. "Wait, wait, one second." He unzipped the front section and fished around inside, his hand closing around familiar worn plush. "Mister Burt, I…um…"

He hesitated. Mister Burt knelt down. "What is it?" he asked.

Kurt squeezed his hands into tight little fists. "I know you keep Miss Mollie's vanity in your room 'cause she was special and you don't want to forget her," he said. He grabbed one of Mister Burt's hands, turned it around, and placed his present in the middle of his big callused palm. "So if you keep him, you won't forget me, right?"

Mister Burt flexed his fingers, staring down at the tiny rabbit in his hand. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. "No, I…I won't."

Kurt reached out and petted the top of the bunny's head with the tip of his finger. "You'll take care of Bun?" he said.

"Yeah," Mister Burt said, his fingers closing around Little Bun. "I'll take good care of him. I promise." He picked up Kurt's coat, the new red one, and held it out for him to slide his arms in. "You'd better keep this on. It's cold out."

Kurt allowed him to button his coat up to his chin. "Thank you," he said. He bent to pick up his backpack, only to find Sammy waiting there, sitting upright like he was waiting for his leash to be snapped on or his food bowl to be filled. Gently he patted the dog's ear. "Bye, Sammy."

The dog whined, nudging at his hand. "No, no, Sammy," he said. "I have to go." His eyes watered. "Bye."

"Kurt, we need to go, your mommy's waiting," the social worker said, falsely cheerful. She held out her gloved hand and he took it reluctantly, allowing her to lead him out of the house and down the front walk.

The sky was gray and dreary, threatening to spill snow over the dry brittle grass. He tried to pry his fingers out of the social worker's grip, but she held on absently tight, too tight to pull away. She tossed his bags into her trunk and loaded him into the backseat, buckling him in like a baby.

The door slammed with a clang. Kurt scrambled onto his knees, squirming under the restraint, and pressing his hands against the window. Mister Burt stood on the front porch, his arms still crossed over his chest. He could see Little Bun's ears poking out of his shirtfront pocket.

Kurt pressed his face to the window, his breath fogging the glass. "Goodbye," he whispered, but his voice was drowned out by the sedan's engine roaring to life.

"Sit down on your bottom," the social worker said absently as she backed out of the driveway. He obeyed reluctantly, but he twisted around in his seat, trying to keep his eyes on the little house for as long as possible, until at last they were down the street and out of the neighborhood.

He sank down in the seat, barely tall enough to peek out the windows and watch the streets roll by. They drove past his school, the park, even the entrance to Lucy's neighborhood. The streets got more narrow, the buildings older and more rundown. It was a long drive, longer than he remembered. The sky grew darker and the surroundings got dirtier.

The social worker finally pulled into a parking spot on the curb of a gray-sided apartment building. "We're here," she said. "Go on, get out of the car."

He obeyed, his legs heavy and wooden. She pulled his bags out of the trunk and handed them off; he tried not to stare at the rusted bicycle propped up against the wall. Weeds twined around the spokes.

The woman prodded him towards the rust-coated metal stairs. He climbed them carefully, clinging to the railing. The stairwell had always made him nervous; he could see the cracked concrete below. When he was little, he used to be scared of sliding between the steps and falling to the ground below.

He remembered the front of the apartment now that he was standing on the stoop- the crack above the deadbolt, the peeling dark green pain on the door, the tarnished brass numbers over the small mailbox. The social worker knocked lightly. His arms suddenly felt too heavy for his body.

The door cracked open, the chain pulling taut. "I don't want to buy your magazines," a soft hoarse voice rasped. "Go away. Go away, I'm busy."

"I'm not selling anything, I've brought Kurt home," the social worker said.

He could his mother's eye through the crack in the door. They were hazel. He'd forgotten.

"Oh," she said, and she unlatched the door.

He remembered her now- pale as snow, her eyes wide, her bare fingers constantly moving and fidgeting. She'd cut her hair, up to her shoulders. It didn't look so stringy anymore, but it was lank and greasy, like she hadn't washed it recently. She wore a baggy cardigan over her dress, the sleeves heavily pilled and a button dangling by a thread.

She stared at him. "Hello," she said, holding the door open. "Please, come in."

Kurt crossed the threshold of the apartment. His mother touched his shoulder to usher him inside. Her fingers felt like tweezers, plucking at the seam of his coat. The social worker kept talking to his mother, a steady stream of chatter. He held tight to his duffel bag, eyeing his surroundings critically.

The apartment was small and sparse and painfully clean. Everything was scrubbed spotless, stinging his nose with the scent of bleach. The kitchen looked untouched, like it always was. The carpet was worn and stained from prior occupants, but as he stared down at his shoes (the nice new school shoes that Mister Burt had just gotten him) he could see stains left behind, as if bleach had dribbled across the floor. Slowly he stuck his thumb in his mouth. It made him feel a little better.

But not enough.

His mother wanted the social worker out of the house. He could tell. She kept plucking at her sleeves, pulling them over her hands and pushing them back to her elbows. Her eyes darted from the social worker to the door and back again, as if she was waiting for her to get the hint and leave.

"I'll be back to check on things in a few weeks," the social worker said, finally gathering her coat. "Just normal procedure. We'll stay in touch."

"Yes, yes, of course," his mother said, hands fluttering to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you. Yes, we'll stay in touch."

In a moment the social worker was out of the house. His mother closed the door and locked it tight, pulling the chain tight. She turned around, too fast, her lips trembling like she was trying to smile but couldn't quite remember how to do it.

"I missed you," she said.

He said nothing. She frowned and pulled his thumb out of his mouth. "No, no, don't do that, it's dirty."

He dropped his hand like she'd burned him. She didn't seem to notice. "Go put your things away," she said. "Nice and neat, you understand."

He picked up his things and lugged them into the single bedroom. The bed was unmade with the worn quilt bunched up in the middle and the lumpy pillows cockeyed against the headboard. His narrow bare mattress was still pushed up against the wall, under the window. She'd taken the newspaper down from the panes, making the room brighter than he remembered. He knelt down beside the bed and began to unpack his things from his duffel bag, but a strange noise distracted him.

Kurt crept towards his mother's bed. He knew he wasn't supposed to touch it, he couldn't touch any of his mother's things, but he was curious.

A baby was tucked in the middle of the bed, small and pale, dressed only in a yellow onesie, stained across the front. He wondered if his mommy had bleached it too. Cautiously he leaned closer, staring. The baby regarded him coolly, brown eyes too large in its little thin face.

"Are you obeying?" his mother called. He heard the click of her lighter and he scrambled away from the bed as she walked into the bedroom. "What are you doing?"

"There's…there's a baby," he stammered.

"Uh-huh," she said, fumbling to light her cigarette. "Jesus sent us a baby. Isn't that nice?" She dropped the lighter in her pocket and frowned at his tidy piles of clothes. "Where did all these things come from?"

"Presents," he whispered.

She picked up a sweater, a green one, and shook it viciously. "Did you steal these?" she demanded. "You stole these. Oh, god, you're a fucking thief!"

"I'm not!" he protested. "I didn't, they were presents, Miss Carole gave-"

She pushed him back till he tumbled onto his little mattress in the corner, the sweater falling over his face. "You're a thief!" she said. The baby began to cry, a thin little wail. His heartbeat picked up, racing in his chest. "Put all those things in the closet. You hear me? You put all those things in the closet."

He gathered up his things hastily and ran down to the hall closet. The painted-over pipes against the back wall rattled as he threw all of the things that Mister Burt had given him inside. It made his heart ache to leave his nice clothes inside that creepy closet and slam the door, but maybe he could wait until Mommy was asleep and take them back out. He was glad that he'd left Little Bun with Mister Burt. Little Bun wouldn't like the closet very much.

The baby was crying hard now, really crying. His mother still just stood in the doorway, her cigarette twitching in her fingers. Kurt hesitated. "Are you going to make the baby stop crying?" he said.

His mother made a frustrated noise, sucking in air through her teeth. "You're not the mother, I am," she snapped. "Leave the baby alone. Just…just go, and sit, and be quiet. You understand me? Be quiet!"

He did understand. Silently he went to his old spot, against the wall and beside the armchair, and sank down to the floor, arms folded around his knees. His mother curled up on the couch, socked feet tucked up under her, and she turned on the television. The baby continued to cry.

It had been so long since he'd done this. He didn't like sitting still for so long anymore. His knees began to ache and his back began to prickle, but he didn't dare move. Mommy didn't like it when he got up without permission.

His toes were asleep by the time his mother finally glanced at him. "Oh, you can get out of timeout now," she murmured. She turned back to the television, tapping the ashes onto the scratched coffee table and sweeping them into a pile with the side of her finger.

Kurt unfolded himself from his uncomfortable crouch and stood up slowly, his legs prickling painfully. He made his way to the bedroom and scooted onto the bed beside the baby, who was still crying weakly. "Hi," he said, scooching on his elbows. "Hi, baby. I'm your big brother Kurt."

She was still crying, her brown eyes bloodshot. He glanced around to see if there was a pacifier around, like what Lucy's mom gave her baby brother, but no luck. Carefully he offered his knuckle for the baby to suck and she latched on, her cries quieting.

"Nice baby," he cooed, petting the light dusting of dark hair on her little head. "Nice pretty baby."

Kurt rested his head beside hers, closing his eyes and letting her suck on his finger in contentment. He wished he could get Big Bun out of the closet. The baby would like Bun, he was pretty sure. But he didn't dare take his things back, so he stayed where he was, singing little bits of songs and telling her the stories he'd read in his books. He was pretty sure she liked Velveteen Rabbit best.

"Maybe I can get Bun out and you can see what a real bunny looks like," he whispered. "He'd like you."

He heard footsteps and slid quickly off the bed, plopping onto his trundle bed on the floor. The baby began to cry again without his finger to suck on.

His mother paused in the doorway. "Dinner," she said shortly, and she left. Kurt got up slowly and followed her.

The small rickety table was set with two plates and plastic utensils. Kurt slid into a seat and watched his mother warily as she moved around the kitchen, pausing often as if she couldn't remember what to do next. The microwave dinged; she opened the door and pulled out a black plastic microwaveable tray.

"Here," she said, lips still quavering as she carried the tray over to him. "I made you dinner. See? Won't it be nice?"

He gazed down at the contents of the tray. Watery potatoes, a perfectly round meat patty covered in slick gravy, mushy corn, a spongey brownie. "Well?" she snapped, throwing a second tray into the microwave and pushing a button. "What do you say?"

"Thank you," he whispered to his plate.

He waited for her to pull her dinner out of the microwave and sit down across from him at the table. When she folded her hands, he copied her obediently, murmuring a meek "amen" at the end of her long, rambling grace.

She ate like a starving person, digging her plastic fork into her food. He poked tentatively at the potatoes and took a small bite from the center. It was cold. He winced.

He took a second bite, this time from the edges, and this time it was too hot. "Ow!" he yelped, dropping his fork.

His mother looked up suddenly, eyebrows drawing down. "Don't like what I made you?" she jeered.

"No, I just-" he protested.

She flung her arm to the side, pointing with her fork at his corner. "Go!" she said. "Go sit! Sit until you can be polite like a real person!"

He slid off his chair and moved quickly to obey. His tummy rumbled, but he didn't feel hungry.

His mother picked up her tray, nearly knocking her chair to the side, and sat down on the couch. The television played noisily, a brightly colored game show rerun. Kurt curled his knees into his chest and pressed his forehead to his knees.

He didn't know how long he'd zoned out, but suddenly he heard a muffled thump from the bedroom. The TV still played, but his mother was gone.

He unfolded from his crouch and peeked carefully into the bedroom. His mother had unzipped his backpack and dumped the contents across her bed. "Those are mine," he protested.

"Where'd you get these?" she asked, tossing his books into a pile.

"From school," he said. "And from Blaine. For my birthday."

She frowned. "Who's Blaine?"

"My best friend," he said.

"You don't have a best friend," she said, tossing The Velveteen Rabbit aside. Kurt flinched as the pages bent at the corner.

"But he is," Kurt objected. "Blaine's my best friend and I love him."

She whirled around. "You can't love a boy," she said.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another. "But I do," he said.

"You can't," she hissed through her teeth. "You can't, it's nasty. Jesus doesn't like it." She gave him a shove aside. "Go sit. I didn't tell you to get up. Go sit."

"But I-"

"Go!" she screeched, and he fled. He ran into the living room, his sneakered feet sliding on the floor, and fell on his knees in his usual spot. He huddled there, his breath catching in his throat.

"I wanna go home," he whimpered into his hands. "I wanna go home."

He wanted home so badly that it made his stomach hurt. He wanted to eat a homemade dinner at the polished wood table, with Sammy begging by his chair. He wanted to do his homework while Mister Burt washed dishes. He wanted to take Sammy on his bedtime walk. He wanted to crawl under the safe warm covers of his bed and doze off while Mister Burt read him a story. He wanted to cuddle Bun to his chest, half asleep and cozy, and have Mister Burt tuck him in and pat him in the head and tell him to have a good sleep.

"I want Mister Burt," he whispered.

He straightened suddenly. The phone. He could call. Mister Burt promised.

Kurt crawled over to the coffee table. The phone was old, the plastic yellowed and cracked along the edges, but it would still work. Carefully he picked it up, the dial tone echoing in his ear. He pressed the first number lightly.

_3...5...6...2...9...4..._

"What the hell do you think you're doing?

He started, the phone dropping from his hand. His mother loomed over him, arms dangling at her sides like a scarecrow's. "I'm…I'm just…" he whispered.

"You're not supposed to touch the phone!" she screamed. "You know that! Why can't you follow the rules? Why can't you obey? Everything would be perfect if you just obeyed!"

She yanked the phone away from the wall, the brittle plastic of the cord snapping. "I'm sorry!" Kurt cried. "I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not, if you were sorry you'd be better!" she shouted. She grabbed him by the arm. "Why aren't you better? Why can't you be better?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he shrieked.

She shook him hard, her hand tight and viselike on his slender wrist.

"I'm sor-"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Special thanks for Katelyn and Christina for betaing this chapter, and especially to beonmyrightankle for her fabulous advice on the social work details.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt glanced in the mailbox. Nothing.<p>

He slammed it shut and headed up the front walk, his hands shoved in his pockets. Sammy barked a greeting as he walked through the front door, but he ignored him.

"Burt? Are you back?" Carole called.

"Yeah," he grunted, hanging his coat up in the hall closet.

"Well, wash up, dinner's almost ready."

He stomped into the little bathroom and turned on the water. They'd fallen into an easy pattern, he and Carole. She came over a few nights a week, always on Fridays, and made dinner for the three of them. It was almost like a family- he and Carole, Finn, the dog. But it wasn't quite right.

Finn was setting the table, frowning in concentration. "Hey, bud," Burt said, ruffling his hair. "How'd school go today?"

"Good," Finn grinned, proudly displaying the gap in his teeth from a newly lost tooth. "We're getting ready for the Christmas program."

"Christmas already?" Burt said as he slid into his seat. "Thanksgiving was last week. Is it really time for Christmas stuff?"

"Yeah!" Finn said, plopping into the chair beside him. "I want a drum set for Christmas. Do you think Santa will bring me a drum set for Christmas?"

"Only if he puts earplugs in Mom's stocking," Carole said dryly as she put the casserole dish on the table and tugged the potholders off her hands.

Burt nudged Finn lightly. "You think Santa can get a drum set down the chimney?" he asked.

"I dunno, maybe," Finn shrugged.

"Finn, honey, elbows off the table," Carole chided as she sat down. "All right, who wants to say grace tonight?"

Burt suppressed a sigh. It was nice, it really was. He liked having them come over for dinner. He liked Carole bustling around in the kitchen and Finn filling the house with noise. Dating Carole was a good thing.

So why did he feel so…unsettled?

They ate dinner together, chatting about Finn's soccer practice and Carole's book club and Burt's cars. Afterwards Carole and Finn washed up while Burt took Sammy on his nighttime walk, the dog yipping and panting the whole way. They piled into the living room to watch a show, but Finn dozed off, one arm still draped around Sammy's neck.

"I'd better take him home," Carole murmured, her cheek resting on Burt's shoulder.

"It's the weekend," Burt said. He wrapped an arm around Carole's shoulders. "He can sleep in tomorrow."

Carole pressed a kiss to his cheek and pulled back. "No, I've got work early tomorrow," she said apologetically. She smoothed her hair. "But he's got soccer tomorrow and he'll probably want to sleep over with his friend Noah, so…I can do a movie tomorrow night, if you want."

"That sounds good," Burt agreed.

Carole smiled and kissed him again, then bent to shake Finn's shoulder gently. "Finn, baby, wake up, it's time to go home…"

Burt walked them to the front door, Finn leaning sleepily on his mother's arm. Sammy whined and pawed at the door when he closed it; Burt ruffled his ears. "Yeah, you like having little kids around, don't you?" he said. He gave Sammy a last pat, his face falling in grim lines, and turned off the porch lights.

The house was quiet. He cleared his throat as he headed up the stairs. It had been a month. He should be used to this by now, the silence.

But he wasn't.

He turned on the lights in the master bedroom. It was cluttered, the bed unmade. The only thing still clean was Mollie's vanity. He trailed his fingers along the surface. Years ago he painted that for her- a surprise for her birthday. She'd clapped her hands and kissed him and sat down at the bench to primp, pursing her lips and laughing.

God, he missed her.

He glanced down at the tiny stuffed rabbit perched beside the mirror and his heart twinged. It hurt to look at it, but every time he even considered moving it somewhere less conspicuous, all he could see was Kurt gazing up at him with those damn blue eyes, innocent and trusting, his tiny hand pressed against his big rough palm.

Without thinking he grabbed the little rabbit and walked down the hall. The door to the spare bedroom had been closed for the past month, but he couldn't ignore it anymore.

Kurt's bedroom looked the same. The bed was neatly made, but the pillows were a little crooked. A few of his toys were stacked neatly on the shelves; his books were still organized on the top. All of Kurt's belongings had been locked there, waiting for him. All Burt needed was a phone call, a letter. Just to know where Kurt was and if he was all right. He'd been mentally preparing for it, packing up the rest of Kurt's things and carrying them over to wherever he lived with his mother and then just…saying that one last goodbye. He had even planned on taking the bedroom furniture over there if he wanted it.

But there was nothing but silence.

He had tried to push the thought out of his head. Kurt wasn't his kid. He was somebody else's. And he wasn't fit to be a parent anyway. The day after they took Kurt he'd called and had them take his name off the emergency placement list.

But he still couldn't forget. He couldn't forget the nights he stood outside Kurt's room and helplessly listened to him cry through a nightmare. He couldn't forget the dead gray look in Kurt's eyes, the frantic apologies for things he hadn't done. He couldn't forget the purple bruises and the red welts crisscrossing his tiny body.

The belt was still in the cabinet under the bathroom sink, hidden behind shampoo bottles and toilet paper. He wondered if the mother missed it.

Burt sank down on the edge of Kurt's bed, the tiny toy rabbit still cradled in his hands. "You'd better be okay," he murmured, squeezing the toy between his fingers. "God, kiddo, you'd…you'd better be okay."

* * *

><p>The good thing about working in a garage was that it was reliable. Nothing changed. Just the steady drone of work- changing oil, rotating tires, digging through engines. The pleasure of monotony.<p>

It was almost noon when the steel gray truck rolled in. Burt tossed his wrench aside and walked up to meet the driver. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think it's the fan belt," the driver said. He was an older guy, maybe mid forties, his face marred by a thick layer of graying scruff. "Started giving me shit about an hour ago, and I don't want to risk it. Gotta drive for my job."

"What's your job?" Burt asked absently, grabbing a clipboard with the paperwork.

"Residential maintenance," he said. "We've got contracts on a couple of apartment complexes. External repairs, painting, planting, you know how it is."

Burt grunted an agreement and raised the hood. He poked around in the truck's engine for a while, frowning as he studied the grimy innards. "Yeah, your fan belt's about to snap," he said. "C'mon up to my office, I can figure out how much it's gonna cost you."

He walked into the office and rummaged around in his file cabinets. The customer followed him, arms folded. "How long d'you think it'll take?" he asked.

"Depends," Burt said. "I'm pretty sure I've got the part you need."

The man glanced around the office, his gaze landing on several dog-eared photos pinned haphazardly to the bulletin board. "You've got kids?" he said, squinting at a picture from Kurt's birthday party.

"No, but my girlfriend's got a son," Burt said offhandedly. "Now, that fan belt's-"

"That's the kid from 277."

Burt frowned. "What?"

The older man was staring at the photograph. "Well, I don't know, it's probably not him, but…he looks just like this kid at an apartment complex we manage," he said. "Can't be him, I guess."

Burt's chest tightened. "That's Kurt," he said. "He was my…he's a foster kid. He lived with me for a while."

"That explains why I didn't see him," the man said. His gaze moved from the photo of Kurt at his party to another one taken over the summer, his arm slung around Finn's shoulders as the two little boys grinned for the camera. "I came by the apartment a few times this past year and didn't see him for ages."

"He doing okay?" Burt asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "I've only seen him a couple of times. Quiet, scrawny kid. I went to check the breaker box in their apartment two weeks, and he just sat there in the corner. Didn't even look up when I walked in. Weird. Most kids his age're running around shouting about something."

"What's his mom like?" Burt asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

He shrugged again. "She doesn't come out when I'm working," he said. "Hides in the bedroom."

Burt leaned heavily on the desk. "What's your name?" he asked.

The man blinked in confusion. "Cal," he said. "Cal Porter."

"Mr. Porter, I'll cut you a deal," he said. "You take me to where he is, and I'll fix your car up, no cost."

"You serious?" Cal said.

"He left a bunch of stuff behind when the social worker took him back to his mother," Burt said. "I'd like to take it back to him, see how he's doing."

"Well, shoot, yeah, I guess," Cal said.

Burt smiled grimly and offered his hand to shake. "Come back at five," he said. "I'll have your truck ready by then."

He had the truck ready by four.

He even had enough time to go back to the house and pack up some of Kurt's things. It didn't sting quite as much to go through his room now. He was going to see Kurt. He was going to see for himself that the kid was okay. Touch his little face, see him smile, hear his voice.

Burt picked up clothes and toys and books, tossing them into a bag, but making sure to leave enough to justify a return trip or two. The door creaked open and he glanced behind him to see Sammy nudging it open.

"Hey, bud, Kurt's not in here," Burt said. The dog trotted over to him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and barked. Burt ruffled his ears. "You wanna come with me? Come visit Kurt?"

Sammy barked loudly. "Fine, fine, you can come with me to see Kurt."

He managed to get the bag of Kurt's belongings and the dog into the front seat of the truck. Sammy kept licking at him as he drove; Burt grinned. It was probably stupid to bring the dog along, but what the hell. Kurt had liked that dog. Maybe it would make him happy.

He parked in his usual spot and lugged Sammy inside. His thoughts were racing at a mile a minute. All he could think about was seeing Kurt again. Seeing for himself that he was okay. But he couldn't shake the unsettling thought that _things might not be okay._

No. He was okay. He had to be.

His office phone jangled, startling him out of his thoughts. He grabbed it and tucked it against his shoulder. "H'llo, Hummel's Tire and Lube," he said.

"Burt? Hi, hon, it's Carole."

"Oh, yeah, hi," he said absently.

"Do you still want to do a movie tonight?" she asked. "I get off work in a few hours. There's a couple showtimes of-"

"Carole, you're gonna think I'm insane, but…I've got something I've gotta do tonight," he confessed.

"Do what?" she said, sounding confused.

"It's about Kurt."

"What about him?" she asked. "Are you getting him back?"

"No, but I guess...I'm gonna find him, at least," he said. "A customer of mine recognized Kurt from a photo. He's gonna take me to where he is."

"Oh my god," Carole said. "Oh my god, yes, Burt, go find him. You'll keep me updated?"

"Yeah, of course," he said.

"I love you."

He paused. "Yeah…love you too," he said, a smile spreading slowly across his face. "I'll call you soon, okay?" Jake stuck his head in the office. "That guy's here for his truck," he said.

Burt hung up the phone and grabbed his coat. "Tell him I'll be out in a second."

* * *

><p>The ride to the apartment complex seemed to take forever. He followed the gray truck through the early evening traffic, both hands gripping the wheel. Sammy sat by quietly, as if he realized that this wasn't an ordinary trip in the car.<p>

They drove through the seedier outskirts of town, grocery stores and small suburbs giving way for pawn shops and rundown fast food joints, and then a small elementary school, its meager playground equipment rusting in the rain. A foreboding lump rose in Burt's throat. He couldn't imagine letting Sammy live in a place like this, much less a little boy.

The truck ahead signaled a right turn and Burt followed closely, passing the bleak signage for Deptford Apartments. He drove through a sea of gray concrete and leafless trees. Old cars past their prime scattered crookedly across the lots. Each apartment building was identical- two stories, weathered gray vinyl siding, rickety metal railings.

The truck circled around to a building in the back, near the dumpsters, and parked. Burt followed his lead, pulling his coat tighter around his chest to keep out the early December chill.

Cal got out of his car and slammed the door. "That's it," he said, pointing to the apartment above them.

"Why's there newspaper over the windows?" Burt said, reaching over to hustle Sammy out of the car.

Cal shrugged. "The lady's a little odd," he said.

Burt held tight to Sammy's leash, strangely glad to have the dog with him. "C'mon, Sammy," he said in a low voice as he slung the bag over his shoulder. "C'mon, let's go see your boy."

They climbed the shaky stairwell, the steps rattling and echoing as they made their cautious way up. Sammy trotted beside Burt, setting each paw down carefully.

Burt went up to the door, paused, and knocked once, firm and loud.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

"Bitch ain't there."

Burt glanced back. A woman was jiggling her key in the door across from them, balancing a full bag of groceries on her hip. "I told you, she ain't there," she said. "Bitch skipped out five days ago. Landlord's pissed. If she don't come back and pay her rent, he gonna sue her ass."

A chill ran down Burt's spine. "She take her kid with her?" he asked.

The woman shrugged as the door swung open. "Didn't know she had a kid," she said, and she disappeared into her apartment.

Cal glanced back at him. "You think she left the kid behind?" he asked.

"Don't know," Burt said. "You got a key?"

Cal shrugged. "It's probably against my contract, but if there's a kid involved…"

He pulled out a ring of master keys, fiddled around with it, and stuck one into the lock. It turned slowly and Burt stepped inside.

The apartment was dark and cold, the newspapered windows casting eerie shadows across the sparse furniture. The air smelled heavy, like the sting of bleach layered over the thickness of sour milk. Burt glanced around, searching in vain for any sign of a child living in that apartment. No toys. No books. No clothes.

His heavy footsteps shuffled into the thin carpet. The kitchen was cold and barren- not a crumb on the counter, not a dish in the sink. The trash had been emptied.

He peeked into the bedroom. One bed, the comforter made up with perfect hospital corners. No sign of clothes in the closet.

"Sorry, Mr. Hummel, there's no one here," Cal said, his gravely voice sounding too loud in the small apartment. "Maybe it wasn't the same kid after all."

Burt's heart sank. "Maybe," he murmured.

Suddenly Sammy pulled on his leash, whining, his paws scrabbling against the carpeted floor. "Probably oughta get your dog outta here," Cal said. "I'm real sorry, Mr. Hummel."

Sammy whined, tugging against the confines of his leash. "What's wrong with you, boy?" Burt asked. "You smell something?"

Sammy barked, pulling free of Burt's grip, and threw himself against the hall closet door. He scratched frantically at the handle and barked.

Burt's heart thudded in his chest. Cal swallowed hard. "You think he's-"

With trembling fingers Burt reached for the handle. The metal was cold to the touch. With a careful grip he turned the knob and squinted into the darkness.

"Oh _god_," he choked.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Special thanks to Zoey and Katelyn for looking over this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt reached out a shaking hand. "Kurt," he whispered. "Kurt, don't be scared. It's me. You're okay."<p>

The skeletal little creature hissed at him, shrinking away. His clothes were filthy and his hair hung over his eyes. He clutched a blanket-wrapped bundle in his bony arms, and as Burt knelt down to get a better look into the closet he drew his knees back. His feet were bare and blue with cold.

"Oh, god, that's your kid?" Cal breathed. "Holy God…"

"Just call an ambulance," Burt snapped. The child pulled further back and broke into a cough, loud and barking. Burt knelt as close as he dared. "Hey. Hey, kiddo. It's okay. It's me. It's Mister Burt."

The child wiped his mouth with his equally dirty shirtsleeve, his whole body trembling with the exertion, and finally looked up at him with glazed-over eyes. Burt forced himself to smile, knowing full well it couldn't possibly be comforting. "Yeah, honey," he said. "It's me. Can you move at all? You need me to pick you up?"

The little boy leaned forward, his body drooping, and with a start Burt realized that he was tied to a painted-over pipe in the back of the closet, caged like an animal. The child let out another horrible noise and hunched over, clutching the wrapped bundle in his arms. "It's okay, it's okay," Burt soothed hastily. "I'm gonna get you out, okay? Don't be scared."

He fumbled in his coat pocket for his army knife and sawed at the fabric keeping the boy imprisoned. It wasn't much, just a winter scarf, poorly knitted, but the knots were tight enough to leave red marks in his deathly pale skin.

"C'mon, kiddo," Burt whispered as he pulled the remnants of the scarf away from the child's upper arms and torso. He cupped his thin dirty face in his hands. "C'mon, just say something. Let me know you're still in there."

The little boy blinked once, twice, slow and uneven, but recognition seemed to dawn and his foggy eyes faded into focus. He mouthed something, his voice too weak and raspy to be heard, but his face crumpled and he let out a terrible wail.

Burt smoothed his dirty, greasy hair. "Kurt, you're okay," he promised. "You're gonna be fine. I'm here. I'm here now. Nobody's gonna hurt you. You hear me? No one's gonna hurt you again."

Cal's footsteps echoed behind him, fast and heavy. "I called an ambulance," he said. "They're on their way. God, that's where he's been? Oh, God…"

Burt kept his hands against Kurt's hollow cheeks. His skin was dry and blazing hot despite the cold air. "Cal, turn the heat on," he ordered.

"Nothing's working, the power's been cut off."

Burt cursed under his breath. "Get the blanket off the bed," he said. His hands moved to Kurt's narrow bony shoulders. "There's an ambulance coming. We're gonna get you to the hospital and you'll be fine. Let's get you out of that closet, okay?"

Kurt let out another hollow scream, pulling further away. Burt held his hands up in surrender. "It's okay, buddy, I'm not gonna hurt you," he said, trying to keep his voice soft. "Here, you give me what you're holding, and I'll get you out."

Kurt shook his head, holding tighter. He was mouthing something, his lips slack and clumsy from cold, and it took several false starts before sound came out. "No," he rasped. "No. Mine. Safe. Keep safe."

"Kiddo, whatever you're holding, we'll keep it safe," Burt promised. He glanced back to see Cal waiting anxiously with the quilt from the bed in his hands. "See? There's a blanket for you, but it's gonna be hard to get you out and wrap you up if you're holding on to something."

Kurt gazed down at the blanketed bundle, his eyes beginning to lose focus again. "Baby," he murmured.

Burt tugged back the blankets a little. Sure enough, Kurt held a little baby in his arms, perhaps three months old. There was no need to check for a pulse.

He cleared his throat. "How about we get a nice warm blanket for this little guy?" he offered, his mouth gone bone-dry.

Kurt shook his head fiercely. "Her," he said.

"Oh," Burt said. "Well, let's get the little girl her own blanket, okay?"

Kurt paused, then reluctantly curled his fingers back, loosening his grip. Burt cautiously lifted the bundle out and passed it to Cal, who cradled it in shaking arms and handed the quilt over to him. Kurt's thin arms drooped, exhausted, and he let out a weak cry of pain.

"Yeah, they're gonna be stiff, you've been sitting the same way too long," Burt said. He rubbed Kurt's arm gently, slowly easing the crook of his elbow straight. "You're gonna be fine. I promise."

He took his time massaging the stiffness out of Kurt's skinny arms. The child slumped forward, his shoulders shuddering as he attempted to take a deep breath. His breathing was thick and labored, breaking off at the end of each inhale, and Burt felt a spike of panic that he tried to tamp down.

"There we go," he murmured, wrapping the quilt around Kurt tightly. "There. That's better, right?"

Kurt nodded, shivering in the depths of the blanket, and Burt scooped him up gently. He felt too light, fragile and birdlike, but he could feel Kurt's heart racing. "You're gonna be okay," he murmured, hugging Kurt to his chest in an effort to keep him warm. The sound of sirens crept up on them, slowly growing louder. "You're gonna be okay, little boy. I'm not gonna leave you again."

Sammy crept over to them, his paws light on the floor. He nudged his nose against Kurt's thin grimy cheek, offering a gentle lick on the side of his neck. Kurt blinked, a little bit of color fading into his eyes. "Hi," he croaked. "Hi, Sammy."

Sammy whined and crawled closer to Kurt, pressing the warm weight of his body against Kurt's skeletal little frame. Burt smiled. "Yeah, kiddo, I brought Sammy," he said. "He missed you."

Kurt's mouth twisted. "Hi," he rasped again, but speaking just those few words seemed to drain his strength, and he sagged back against Burt.

Burt stroked the child's back as the sirens screamed louder, soft and calming. "It's gonna be okay," he said. "We're gonna take you to the hospital, okay?"

He could hear the noise of the ambulance below, clanging doors and shouting voices. The neighbors were probably beginning to cluster around the door like greedy-eyed cockroaches. Burt pulled the quilt tighter around Kurt's trembling body, the grime of his skin rubbing onto the fabric.

"…he's in here, he's just…god, those kids were in there for days, I can't believe it. I just can't believe it," he heard Cal babble frantically, leading two EMTs into the apartment. "And, oh god, the baby…"

There was a pause. Out of the corner of his eye Burt saw the male paramedic take the blanketed bundle from Cal's arms. "Dead," he said. "Probably for a day or two."

"Oh, god…"

A paramedic made her way over to them, a slight woman with large dark eyes and lines around her mouth. Burt reluctantly loosened his grip on Kurt so she could look over him. "What happened?" she asked, prying Kurt's limp body from his arms and laying him flat on the floor. "What's his name?"

"Kurt, his name's Kurt. I'm Burt Hummel, I was his foster dad," Burt said, unable to tear his eyes away from Kurt as the paramedic checked him over, gloved hands quick and practiced. "His mother took him back a month ago and I went looking for him. He was locked up in the closet."

The paramedic nodded absently as she pulled out a blood pressure cuff. "All right, Dad, I need you to keep him still," she said.

"I'm not his-" Burt started to say, but Kurt let out a startled shriek as the cuff began to tighten around his narrow arm. Burt touched his forehead lightly. "You're okay, kiddo, you're okay."

The other paramedic moved beside the woman, the two of them working over Kurt, tossing numbers back and forth. Burt kept his hand on Kurt's hair, listening dumbly. High temperature, sluggish pulse, low oxygen. None of it sounded good. Fear began to coil around his heart.

"All right, we're going to move him onto the stretcher," one of the EMTs said. "Dad, I really need you to help keep him still, he might panic."

Burt nodded numbly, his hand moving from Kurt's hair to his narrow chest. His heartbeats thudded slowly against his ribcage. "It's okay, Kurt," he murmured as the paramedics shifted him. "It's all right."

The EMTs buckled Kurt into the stretcher, the stained blanket still wrapped around him. The woman pulled out an oxygen mask and placed it over Kurt's nose and mouth; the man swiftly prepared an IV and swabbed a clean spot on Kurt's arm. "God, he's a hard stick," he mumbled to himself, and Burt kept his hand to Kurt's heartbeat until the needle reached a vein and the bag of saline was safely hung.

Once he was settled they raised the gurney, locking the wheels in place. Sammy barked. "You go on, I'll keep an eye on your dog," Cal offered. "You stay with the kid."

Burt didn't have time to thank him. He stayed close to Kurt, still keeping his hand against his chest. Kurt gazed up at him, his eyes large over the rim of the oxygen mask. Burt tried to smile at him, but as they moved out of the apartment and into the pale early-evening light, he nearly choked.

If it hadn't been for the soft flicker of his long lashes and the faint fogging of the plastic mask, he wouldn't have believed that Kurt was still alive. The child's skin was shadowed in blue from cold and yellow from jaundice. His lips were white, the skin cracked and bleeding, and his eyes were colorless. He was scrawny and filthy and feverish _but he was alive._

And that was all that mattered.

The neighbors gathered on the stairs, gawking and whispering to each other. Burt anxiously smoothed Kurt's hair, trying to shield him from the stares. The stairs rattled with every step as they made their way cautiously down to the waiting ambulance.

The paramedics loaded the gurney into the ambulance with minimal jostling. Burt stepped back to let them lift the stretcher, but he head a frantic shriek of terror from inside. "It's all right, your daddy's right here, he's right outside the door," he heard the male paramedic say, but Kurt let out another anguished cry.

Burt climbed into the ambulance and grabbed Kurt's hand, not caring if he held on too tightly. "Hey, buddy, it's me," he said. "It's all right."

He sat down beside Kurt, squeezing his hand, feeling the tiny fingers grip back with as much strength as they could muster. The paramedic closed and locked the door, and with a lurch and a sudden blast of siren they were on their way.

The ride to the hospital seemed to take ages. Kurt fought for every breath, the plastic mask over his face fogging weakly. One of the EMTs raised the gurney so that Kurt was sitting up a little, easing his breathing.

"We're almost at the hospital," Burt told Kurt. "You're gonna get fixed up just fine. I promise." He leaned over Kurt, touching his forehead to his, feeling the heat of his fever. "I _promise_, baby."

The ambulance pulled up under the emergency room awning and screeched to a halt, the sirens still wailing. The doors burst open and Burt was quickly lost in the shuffle as they hoisted the stretcher out, pulled it inside, left him behind. He followed closely, trying to keep up.

"O2 stats are at 89%."

"Temperature at 102."

"Respirations at 24."

Burt pushed past a nurse, clenching his fists in frustration as Kurt began to cry again. They lifted him from the gurney to an examination table in the triage room, the oxygen mask shifting and the IV bag swinging.

"Sir, you have to-"

"I'm his dad," Burt snapped, reaching for Kurt's hand again.

A doctor in blue scrubs held a flashlight over Kurt's eyes. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

The child blinked slowly. "Kurt," he rasped.

"Hi, Kurt, I'm Dr. Tanner," he said, watching Kurt's pupils closely. "Can you tell me where you are?"

"H-hospital," he croaked, swallowing hard.

"Yes, that's right," he said. "All right, we need to take a little blood so we can run some tests. You're going to feel a little stick. Just hold onto your daddy's hand, okay?"

Kurt whimpered. Burt squeezed his hand as the doctor pulled out the needle. "Kurt?" he said softly. Kurt turned towards him, slow and sluggish, his eyes wide and unfocused. Burt smiled at him. "Hey, buddy. How're you doing?"

"I don't feel good," Kurt rasped, just as the doctor pricked the soft skin of his arm to draw blood. He let out a startled shriek, turning towards the source of the pain.

"Hey, hey, hey, just look at me," Burt coaxed, stroking Kurt's tangled hair. "Come on, baby, just look at Daddy. I'm right here. Daddy's here."

Kurt moaned, too weak to pull away from the doctor's firm hands. Burt shushed him gently, smoothing Kurt's hair in rhythmic, lulling strokes.

"All right, Kurt, you did a great job," the doctor said. "We're done with that. You did great." He removed the oxygen mask and guided Kurt into a sitting position. "I need to listen to your breathing. Take a deep breath in for me, okay?"

Kurt struggled to obey, the bluish tinge around his lips intensifying without the help of the oxygen. The doctor held the stethoscope to his back in a few places, then to his chest. As he moved the stethoscope to his belly, the child began to cough, his whole body spasming. The doctor quickly set the stethoscope aside. "Take him down to x-ray," he said to a nurse. "Full chest."

The nurse nodded. "You can't go in with him," she said apologetically to Burt.

Kurt grabbed Burt's shirtsleeve. "I'll stay with you as long as I can," he promised the little boy as they prepared to move him. "You're gonna be fine. You're safe."

He stayed close as they moved him from the triage room, trying to keep his hand on Kurt's shoulder or hand or belly, just keeping that reassuring contact, but they were moving so quickly that it was hard to keep up. But he tried. It was all he could do.

"You're going to have to wait out here," the nurse said impatiently as they opened the doors to x-ray.

"But he-" Burt started to say, but the doors swung shut in his face. He clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms. He had no choice but to wait.

Burt Hummel was not okay with waiting.

He began to pace up and down, glancing occasionally towards the doors. Faintly he could hear Kurt crying, scared and defeated, and he swore under his breath. He couldn't do anything. He was powerless. Completely powerless.

Ages passed. The doors opened, and in a second he was by Kurt's side again, clasping his cold hand. The child was white and shaken, his cheeks splotched with red from fever and his eyes teary. "Hey, buddy, it's me," Burt said. "You all right?"

"He did just fine," the nurse said. "They have a room ready for him in pediatrics, so we're going to take him straight there." She smiled down at the little boy. "We're going to get you cleaned up. How does that sound?"

Kurt ignored her, staring wide-eyed up at Burt, his bleeding lips parted as he struggled to take a deep breath. Burt squeezed his shoulder, feeling the birdlike bones tugging against his skin. He couldn't think of anything to say.

They brought Kurt into the pediatric wing, a cheerful little section of the hospital with brightly painted walls, and into a small private room, the door closing behind them. A young nurse was already there getting the room ready, and she smiled as she saw Kurt. "Hi, I'm Alice," she said. "And you're Kurt?"

The child didn't respond, his arms and legs limp as Burt helped transfer to him the bed. The other nurse left, and Burt kept his hand on Kurt's knee as Alice adjusted the IV. "All right, we're going to get you cleaned up," she said cheerfully. "You'll feel better, I promise."

She stripped Kurt's filthy clothing with gentle hands, draping a sheet over him as he shivered. "You just lie still and rest," she told him. "Dad, do you want to help?"

Burt nodded and she placed a warm damp washcloth in his hand. She took charge, gently wiping Kurt's face clean, and Burt followed her lead. Kurt's skin was dry and hot to the touch, fragile enough that he felt like the tiny bones would break under his clumsy hands. It reminded him of those early days, those first few weeks when he would care for the sores and bruises covering Kurt's small body. He could still see faint off-color splotches on Kurt's skinny back, reminders of the injuries already inflicted on him.

The nurse bathed Kurt carefully and Burt tried his best to help. He looked a little better by the time they were done, still pale but cleaner and calmer. The nurse dressed him in an oversized hospital gown and tucked him under the clean sheets. It did nothing to calm his restless shivering.

"There, that's better," Alice said. She moved a chair beside Kurt's bed and nodded towards Burt. "Here, take a seat. His test results should be back soon and the doctor will be up in a minute to look in on him."

"Thanks," Burt said, sinking into the chair. He cupped Kurt's hand in both of his, smoothing his thumb across his knuckles. "Hey, kiddo. You doing any better?"

"Hurts," Kurt whispered.

"I know," Burt said. "You're going to feel better soon, though. I promise."

The young doctor from earlier walked into the room, a clipboard in his hands. "Mr. Hummel?" he said. "You're Kurt's guardian, correct?"

"Sort of," Burt said. "He was put in an emergency placement program back in March and he lived with me until his mother took him back a month ago. I got worried and went looking for him and found him…like this. Locked in a closet, probably for a couple of days."

"So the mother did this?" Dr. Tanner asked. Burt nodded. The man let out a low whistle. "Well, we've notified the authorities. They'll be here later to talk to you and to Kurt, once he's a little stronger." He turned a paper back on his clipboard. "Kurt is severely dehydrated, but the IV drip is helping and it should bring his levels back up. He's malnourished, but that was probably already in effect before he was abandoned." He pulled out a glossy x-ray from his papers. "He also has pneumonia, pretty advanced. We're going to keep him on low levels of oxygen and start him on antibiotics."

Burt took a deep breath and squeezed Kurt's hand, rubbing some warmth back into his brittle fingers. "But he's going to be okay, right?" he said.

"He'll recover," the doctor said. "He'll need a lot of care and attention, but he should recover just fine." He closed his papers and looked at Burt. "We need to get him set up with a nastro-gastic feeding tube. It's a very uncomfortable procedure, and we'll need to sedate him."

"Do you have to do it?" Burt asked. "He's been through enough."

"There's not really another choice," the doctor said. "His system is too weak to handle anything else, and if we don't give him the feeding tube, his condition will continue to deteriorate."

Burt sighed, still holding onto Kurt's hands. "Get it over with then, I guess," he said.

Kurt shifted in the bed. "Wanna go home," he murmured.

"Not yet, kiddo, not yet," Burt soothed, tucking a strand of hair back from Kurt's hot forehead. "Listen, bud, they're gonna give you a feeding tube. You're not strong enough to eat on your own, so they have to do this. I need you to lie still and be good, okay?"

Kurt froze. His eyes glazed over. "I try to be good," he whispered, his voice hollow. "I try. I really try."

Burt swallowed hard. He had the uneasy feeling that he'd said the wrong thing. "I know you try, Kurt, and you're always good," he said. "I just need you to be still so they can put the tube in. You can do that, right?"

The nurse came back into the room with the new equipment. Kurt moaned, clamping his mouth shut and turning his head away. "No, no, kiddo, it's gonna be all right," Burt said.

Alice picked up a syringe. "I'm going to put this in his IV," she told Burt quietly. "It'll make him sleepy."

"No," Kurt whimpered. "No, no, no." He let out a harsh shuddering cry, his body shifting restlessly. "No! No!"

"You can hold him if you'd like," Alice offered. "At least until he falls asleep."

Burt sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed and scooped him gently. "No, no, no," Kurt sobbed, thumping his fists weakly against Burt's arms. "No more. No more."

"I know," Burt said, adjusting the little boy against his chest. "I know, baby. You're just going to sleep for a little bit. I'll be right here. I'm gonna hold you."

The nurse carefully injected the contents of the syringe into the catheter. Burt held the exhausted child close, stroking the back of Kurt's neck gently. The drug began to take effect but Kurt fought it, struggling to keep his eyes open. He whimpered with the effort, fragile fingers curling into limp fists.

"Go to sleep, Kurt," Burt murmured. "It's all going to be all right." He kissed the child's hot forehead. "Just go to sleep."

He rocked him gently, watching the tight lines around Kurt's mouth slowly relax and wishing he could do more, make him hurt less. Slowly Kurt fell asleep, his head resting in the crook of Burt's elbow, his hand falling limply to the side. The nurse helped him set Kurt back down on the bed and tucked him in.

"You don't have to stay for the procedure," she said quietly. "It's going to be a little rough."

Burt forced himself to stand up. "Yeah, I should probably…I've got some phone calls to make," he said. He squeezed Kurt's limp little hand. "Just…tell me when it's done?"

"I will," Alice said, and Burt set Kurt's hand down with a soft pat.

He walked to the waiting room and pulled his cellphone out of his coat pocket. For a second he stared at it, wondering how on earth he was supposed to make this call, but his fingers dialed the number on autopilot.

It rang once, twice. "Hello, Carole Hudson."

"Carole, it's-" He had to stop and clear his throat. "It's me."

"Burt?" she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Did you get to see Kurt? How is he? Did you tell him I miss him?"

Burt choked.

"Burt?"

He rested his head in his hand, unable to speak.

"Burt, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

He dragged his hand over his face. "Carole," he said. "Something's happened to Kurt."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Sweet baby Jesus.

This chapter somehow came together pretty quickly- probably because this was the first part that I scripted in my head when I first got the idea for this story. It's also the scene from the original book that pretty much embedded itself in my brain the first time I read it.

(For those who have been asking- yes, this story is inspired by Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian. Look at the author's note for the very first chapter. :P)

I reread the scene in the book and rewatched the scene in preparation to write this. So many tears. Ridiculous amounts of tears.

My sweet nurse-in-training beta, Katelyn, helped me through this chapter with medical critiques and lots of flailing. so thank you thank you _thaaaank _you. :) And also thanks to Zoey, who is awesome.

So now you know what happened to the poor baby. Next chapter..._Burt Hummel raises hell. _And also cuddles his baby. _But mostly rai__ses hell._

(This is a very jolly author's note for such a sad chapter, but I can't help it. I need to alleviate the weepiness.)


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"We call it failure to thrive."<p>

Burt stared down at the cup of tepid coffee in his hands, his shoulders slouching. "I don't understand," he said.

The young doctor looked down at his clipboard. "He's not responding to treatment," he said. "He won't rest."

Burt watched a bubble form on the surface of his coffee and pop lightly. He knew why Kurt couldn't sleep. Kurt wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his own bed, with his own blankets and pillows and pajamas, where he was safe and warm and protected. Not in a busy hospital, where it was never quiet enough and people were popping in and out and the lights were always on. And not while he still felt so sick and weak and miserable.

"What can I do?" Burt asked.

"I think we should bring in a therapist," Dr. Tanner said quietly. "We have an excellent doctor on staff who specializes in difficult cases like this. She may recommend that he be put on an antidepressant."

"He's _eight_," Burt said, his hands clenching around his coffee cup.

"He's undergone severe abuse," the doctor said. "I think it would be in Kurt's best interest to bring in a therapist. She can come down here to talk to him as soon as the police are done interviewing him."

Burt gritted his teeth. "When can I see him?" he asked.

"The police are still talking to him," the doctor said. "You can look in on him, but they don't want any interference during the interview. Are you still waiting to talk them?"

He shook his head. "Already told them all I know," he said. He got up, tossing his coffee cup in the trash. "I'm gonna go see if he's all right."

He walked down the hall towards Kurt's room and peered through the window. Kurt was propped up in bed, his skin looking gray against the clean white sheets. A maze of wires and tubes were strapped to his tiny body- the feeding tube, the oxygen cannula, the IV, the heart monitor. His cheeks were hollow and his big blue eyes, pale and crystalline, were ringed in lavender shadows. He answered a question as the officer took notes, his eyes closing slowly till his lashes brushed his cheeks, and then jolted back awake, his shoulders straightening as he struggled to keep from sleeping.

Burt placed his hand against the door. The detectives seemed nice enough, but Kurt was clearly exhausted and scared. He needed to sleep. He needed to be home.

One of the detectives said something to Kurt, patting his knee gently, and the other one picked up a camera. Burt's heart clenched. They were taking pictures of Kurt's bruises and scars, to document the abuse.

Kurt visibly shrank away, flinching as the camera flashed in his eyes. They took several pictures, turning his small body this way and that to get a better angle. Kurt's chest heaved. Burt's hand tightened into a fist.

A particular bright flash went off, flaring white in Kurt's wide-eyed face, and he let out a terrified shriek. The detective set down the camera and held out a hand, trying to calm him, but Kurt flinched and began to scream, the sound echoing through the closed door.

Burt grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it open, crossing the room in a few quick strides. "It's okay, kiddo, they're gonna go," he said. He scooped Kurt up in his arms, his skinny little legs dangling limply. Kurt clung to his shirt, sobbing in painful frightened gasps. "Sh, sh, sh. It's all right."

"We'll come back later," one of the officers said, gathering up the camera.

Burt pulled the child against his chest and rubbed the back of his neck with his thumb. "You're safe, you're safe," he coaxed over the sound of Kurt's crying. "You need to go to sleep. You're tired. You're just really tired." He kissed the top of Kurt's head, feeling his panicky gasps for breath slow just a little bit. "Close your eyes. Just for a little bit."

The door opened and the doctor came back in, the nurse at his heels. Burt ignored them as they checked over Kurt. "Go ahead and sedate him," the doctor said.

"But he's just-" Burt started to say.

The doctor took Kurt out of Burt's arms and laid him back on the bed as the nurse injected something into Kurt's catheter. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, but we need him to stay calm," Alice apologized.

"He hates it, though," Burt protested, squeezing Kurt's shoulder tightly. The little boy was fading fast, sliding into unconsciousness, his body falling limp. He whimpered a little, and Burt stroked the soft skin of his brittle arm. "He can't sleep here. He's too wound up."

"Then the sedation will help," the doctor said. "But I'm afraid you need to leave, Mr. Hummel. He needs to rest."

"No, I need to stay with him," Burt snapped.

Kurt sank back into the thin pillow as the sedative took full effect, an airless sigh escaping his pale cracked lips. Burt smoothed his rough thumb against Kurt's hollow cheek. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, you need to go," Alice said softly. "We'll take care of him."

Burt smoothed a lock of hair away from Kurt's hot forehead and stood up reluctantly. "Fine," he said. "But you've got to tell me as soon as he's awake."

"I promise," Alice said.

Burt turned away, hands sliding in his coat pockets, and left Kurt's hospital room. The door clicked shut behind him, a small final sound. He wandered aimlessly down the hall, unsure of where he was going, but-

He froze. "Hey!" he barked. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he stormed down the hall towards the waiting room where the police officers were talking to a very familiar woman. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

Kurt's social worker straightened. "Mr. Hummel, what are you-"

"You did this!" Burt shouted. "You sent him right back to that hellhole!"

The male officer put his hand on Burt's arm. "You need to calm down," he warned.

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," the social worker said, nearly in tears. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted him to get hurt. That's the _last _thing I want, for any of my kids, but…his mother, she was compliant, she-"

"She left him to die," Burt said in a low voice.

"I know."

"I showed you the belt. I showed you his bruises. I _told _you."

The woman nodded, lips pressed together. "I know," she said. "I was…my next scheduled visit was for tomorrow. And I'd gotten a call from Kurt's school- he'd missed a week of school with no note or phone call from his mother, and they notified me, just like they were supposed to. I had just checked in with the grocery store where she works to see if she had been showing up for her shifts when I got the call about Kurt. I was just-"

"She planned this," Burt realized. He clenched his fists. "She knew you would come, but by then it would be too late, you'd just find their bodies…"

The social worker dashed at her eyes. "His mother is a very sick woman," she said. "She was in rehab for the duration of her pregnancy. She was doing so much better, though. The baby was born healthy, she was doing just fine caring for her. She seemed like she genuinely wanted to make a change, to have her family back."

"Until she tried to kill her kids," Burt said bitterly.

"We've got the state troopers out looking for her," the female officer said. "She's wanted for manslaughter for the baby's death and attempted manslaughter for the child, along with an assortment of other charges for the gross neglect. She'll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, and that little boy will never go back to her."

"So where's he gonna go in the meantime?" Burt asked. "What are you gonna do? Ship him off to a children's home? Let him get lost in the foster system?"

"Well, once he's been discharged from the hospital, we'll-"

"Send him home with me," Burt begged. "He knows me. He feels safe with me. I can take care of him."

"Mr. Hummel, I-"

Burt crossed his arms. "I took care of that kid from March to October," he said. "I read to him at night so he could catch up to the other kids his age. I took him on walks so he could get stronger. I got him cleaned up when he had nightmares and wet the bed. Who else is gonna take better care of him?"

The social worker hesitated. "I'll see what I can do," she said. "We can sign him over to your custody for the time being. But it can't be permanent."

"Well, he's not going back to his mom, is he?" Burt demanded.

"No, no, of course not," she said quickly. "But we have to get in contact with his blood relations first. They may want to claim him."

Burt gritted his teeth. Claim him. Like Kurt was a car that got towed or a bag left behind in a lost and found.

"Is anyone looking for the child's father?" one of the officers asked.

The social worker shook her head. "There's no father listed on his birth certificate," she said. "And the little girl…she and Kurt don't share the same father." She squared her shoulders. "We'll just have to start with the mother and work our way from there."

"But for now…he's mine?" Burt said.

"He's yours," the social worker confirmed. "I'll have the paperwork drawn up."

Burt's pocket buzzed and he stepped away to answer it. The officers continued to talk to the social worker in low voices; he watched them suspiciously as he hit the talk button. "Hello?" he said.

"Burt, it's Carole. How's Kurt doing?"

He sagged against the wall. "He's…well, he's not dead," he said bitterly. "But he's not good, either."

"What kind of not good?" she asked.

"Failure to thrive," he said, echoing the doctor's report. "He won't sleep. He can't eat. The IV's taking care of the dehydration and the feeding tube's helping, but he's just…he's just so damn miserable. All he wants is to get out of here." He heard rustling papers in the background. "You still at work?"

"Uh-huh, but I…hold on a second." He waited patiently, listening to the soft murmur of muffled chatter in the background. "Burt?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," he said.

"I've found someone to take my shift for tomorrow," she said. "I'll have to bring Finn with me, but I can come up there. I'm fluent in hospital speak, I can figure out what they're doing with Kurt and see what I can do to help."

"Are…are you sure?" Burt said. "You don't have to-"

"Burt, I'll be damned if that little boy doesn't get all the attention he deserves," Carole said. "He needs you to take care of him and you need me to handle the logistics. I'm telling you, I'll meet you there tomorrow morning." She exhaled, the sound crackling in the speaker, and when she spoke again he could hear the smile in her voice. "Now. Tell me how's he doing."

So he did.

He told her about the bad dreams and watching them sedate his terrified little boy. He told her about the horrors of the feeding tube and the IV and the endless beeping of the monitors. He told her about the therapist. He told her about the social worker, and the police officers, and the fact that he had Kurt back, but there was no telling how long he'd have him before some estranged family member swooped in and took him away again, this time for good.

"Mr. Hummel? Kurt's waking up, if you'd like to see him."

Burt stood up, still clutching the phone to his ear. "Carole? Listen, Carole, I've gotta go," he said. "Kurt's waking up, I've got to see him."

"Yes, yes, please, go," she urged. "Call me if there's any changes in his condition, all right? And I'm glad we talked. I love you."

He paused, then smiled slowly. "I love you too," he said. "I'll call you soon, okay?"

He hung up the phone and stuck it in his pocket as he followed the nurse down the hallway. His shoes sounded too loud in the quiet.

"You'll have to be careful," Alice warned as she opened the door. "He's going to be very incoherent still, and he might panic."

Burt walked into the room, his shoes sounding even louder, and sat down carefully. Kurt's mouth gaped a little as he took a shallow breath, his chest heaving. Burt took his hand gently, cupping the tiny fingers in his big palms, and waited for him to wake up.

It seemed to take forever. Kurt woke up slowly, his mouth moving a little and his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He whimpered, his face contorting in pain.

Burt squeezed his thin hand. "You're okay," he crooned. "You're just waking up. You're okay."

He leaned over the little boy and smoothed his hair. Kurt's eyes opened sluggishly and Burt smiled. "Hi, buddy," he said. "Hey, how'd you sleep?"

Kurt's eyes were dazed and unfocused, but he sucked in a harsh shuddering breath. His free hand reached up, fingers shaking, and curled uncertainly around the feeding tube in his nose. Burt quickly pried his hand away. "No, no, no, you don't want to do that," he coaxed. "Kurt, kiddo, do you remember where you are?'

Kurt shook his head, his breathing coming quick and shaky. "You're in the hospital," Burt said softly. "You were…you went back to your mom, and she…she hurt you, baby." He rubbed his thumb against the back of Kurt's bony hand. "You've got tubes in your nose because you're not strong enough to eat real food."

Kurt's eyes welled up. Burt couldn't tell if it was from pain, or from being sick, or terror, or frustration. Maybe a little bit of everything. But Kurt pulled his hands away from Burt's grip and covered his face.

Burt scooted closer. "Sammy misses you," he said. "He found you, you know. He's staying with a friend of mine right now, but he keeps looking around trying to find you." He smoothed an errant tear from Kurt's gaunt cheek. "You miss him?"

Kurt shrugged.

Burt kept his hand against Kurt's cheek, feeling the heat of his fever, and brushed the pad of his thumb against his long fringe of lashes. "Carole and Finn are coming to see you tomorrow," he offered. "You want to see them?"

Kurt shrugged again. He looked so tiny and breakable, his face thin and hollow and his hospital gown hanging on his skinny frame like scarecrow's clothes. The tubes made him look unfamiliar and alienlike. Burt ran his thumb over the slope of Kurt's nose. "God, kid, I missed you," he admitted.

Kurt's face crumpled. He raised his arms like he was asking to be picked up, shaking with the exertion, and Burt lifted him onto his lap, wrapping the blanket around his shivering little body. Kurt's arms twined around his neck.

"You didn't come," Kurt whispered. "I called and called but you didn't come."

Burt held him close, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," he said. He dropped a clumsy kiss on the side of Kurt's head. "It'll never happen again. You'll never have to do that, ever."

Kurt gripped the front of his shirt, shaking with cold and tired and pent-up sobs, and Burt cradled him to his chest, his mind racing with all of the promises he wanted to make but couldn't manage to say.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I need to just cuddle this baby. He needs all the cuddles.

But that's why Carole's coming in the next chapter! Carole will swoop in and fix everything!

So yeah. Carole and Finn will be in the next chapter, and wee little Blaine will visit Kurt in the chapter after that. But oh, this chapter was hard to write. It seemed to take ages. I guess that's what happens when you have to write exposition.

I can't think of anything else interesting to say. Except...that I'm already planning a coda for this story! I have a definite ending and epilogue in mind (actually, I've had it planned since I got the original idea to write this), but I want to go back and write some sweet fluffy filler bits. Aubrey is helping me plan that. We have a whole list of scenes scripted and it'll be _so cute _you'll want to die from the adorable.

But in the meantime...we still have to wait for poor tiny Kurt to get better. And for Burt to deal with all of his guilt. But hey, at least he got to do some yelling and stuff in this chapter!

Special thanks to Zoey and Katelyn for reading over this, and to beonmyrightankle for being my goddess of all things social worker-y.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt stood up from his bench outside the hospital. "Carole!" he called.<p>

His heart clenched as Carole crossed the hospital parking lot, holding Finn's hand. He'd spent so much time with Kurt- skinny, undersized little Kurt- that he'd forgotten what a healthy, normal sized child was supposed to look like. He forced himself to smile as they got closer.

"Hey, Finn!" he said, holding out his arms. "How're you doing, kid?"

"Pretty good," Finn said, hugging him awkwardly. He was bundled up against the winter cold in a heavy coat and gloves, and Carole smoothed his hair down as they walked towards the doors.

"How's Kurt doing?" she asked.

Burt wrapped an arm her shoulders and ushered her inside. "Okay, I guess," he said. "He had another rough night. Nightmares."

"Well, I brought some things that ought to help," Carole said, patting the bag hanging by her side as they walked towards pediatrics. "Poor little thing. Hospitals aren't fun for anyone, but especially not for kids."

They reached the wing waiting room, and Carole paused to take Finn aside. "Honey, we'll come get you when you can see Kurt," she said, cupping his chin in her hands. "You have your Nintendo, right?" He nodded and she kissed his forehead. "All right, honey. You stay right here and wait for us."

Finn nodded again and plunked down in a waiting room chair. Burt patted his shoulder and led Carole down the hall to Kurt's room. "He's really not doing that great," he confided in a low voice. "He's still not responding to anything. Barely even talks."

Carole squeezed his arm. "Let me see what I can do," she said, pushing the door open.

Kurt was propped up in bed, the hospital sheets crumpled around him. He turned sluggishly towards Carole as she walked in, his eyes gray and dazed. "Hi, sweetheart," she said with a smile, setting the bag down on the edge of the bed. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead, then tapped her fingers to the side of his neck, checking his pulse. "How are you feeling, baby?"

He shrugged. Burt stood close by, watching for any change in Kurt's blank expression. Carole didn't seem fazed by the myriad of tubes and wires attached to his tiny body. "You must be so tired of being stuck here," she said sympathetically, cupping his cheek in her hand. She smoothed an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. "How would you like to have a real bath, and put on some of your own pajamas?"

He brightened and nodded. Carole smiled at him. "Let me talk to your nurse, then," she said, stroking his thin bare arm. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Burt smiled gratefully at her, squeezing her shoulder as she passed by. He slid his hands in his back pockets as he crossed over to Kurt's bed. "How're you feeling, buddy?" he asked.

Kurt shrugged. Burt cupped Kurt's cheek in his hand. "You've got a little more color in your face," he commented. "That's good."

"I feel funny," Kurt whispered.

Burt sat down on the edge of his bed. "What kind of funny, kiddo?" he asked. "Stomach hurting kind of funny? Like you're going to throw up?"

"Just…funny," Kurt said. He leaned back against the pillows, his eyes bleary. "I wanna go home."

"I know," Burt said, rubbing Kurt's chest lightly. "I know you do, kiddo."

Carole walked back in with the nurse at her heels. "All right, Kurt, how would you like a bath?" she asked, smiling. "Just hold still for just a second. We're going to disconnect some of your tubes, okay?"

Burt stroked Kurt's hair gently as Alice and Carole disentangled the wires and tubes from the child's body, feeling him tense up anxiously under their hands. "There we go," Carole smiled, pinching Kurt's cheek lightly. "Burt? Do you want to carry him?"

"Sure," Burt said, scooping Kurt off the bed. Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging to him closely. "Hey, you're okay, bud. I've got you."

He carried Kurt into the tiny enclosed bathroom as Carole filled the tub and pulled several bottles and a thick fluffy towel out of her bag. "I thought you might like this," she said, dribbling bubble bath into the tub. Kurt smiled a little as fluffy white foam formed on the surface of the water. Burt squeezed him gently, careful not to break him.

"All right, sweet pea," Carole said. "Let's get you into the tub."

Burt set Kurt down carefully on his feet, holding him up by his upper arms. Carole gently unfastened his hospital gown and helped him undress. She bit her lip. "Oh, honey," she said softly, taking in his thin, bruised body. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." She rubbed her thumb against his cheek. "Okay. Go on, get into the tub."

Burt never thought he would ever feel so grateful again in his life. He sat on the closed toilet lid, silent and thoughtful, as Carole knelt beside the bathtub and gave Kurt a bath. She washed his hair first, her fingers light against his greasy hair and sensitive scalp, and scrubbed his fragile skin, careful of the IV port in his hand. Between the warmth of the water, Carole's gentle ministrations, and the steady stream of light, quiet conversation, Kurt seemed to let down his guard. He still didn't smile much, but he sank into the water, shoulders relaxing.

Carole smiled, cupping Kurt's chin in her hand. "You're all clean and the water's gone cold," she said. "Ready to get out?"

"Yeah," he sighed.

Burt picked up the towel and held it up as Carole helped Kurt stand up. "Your hair's standing straight up," he teased as he wrapped the towel snugly around Kurt and dried him off. Kurt shivered as Carole helped him into the pajamas she'd brought- new striped boxers, thick fleece pajama pants, and a long-sleeved shirt. She pulled it carefully over his head, minding the nastrogastric tube in his nose.

"There," she said, pulling out a comb and smoothing his hair down. "Is that better?"

"Uh-huh," he said. He leaned back against Burt's chest. "I'm sleepy."

"Then let's get you back to bed," Carole said, lifting him up and setting him on her hip. His head drooped to rest on her shoulder. Burt draped the damp towel over the rack and followed them back into the room as Carole set Kurt down and reattached the IV and the heart monitor.

"I don't wanna go to sleep," Kurt sighed.

"Why not, precious?" Carole asked as she tucked him into bed, drawing the blankets up to his chest.

"I have bad dreams," he whispered. "I don't want to have bad dreams anymore."

She kissed the top of his head. "Maybe this will help," she said, opening up the bag she'd brought from home and pulled out Kurt's blue blanket, the one that Mollie had purchased for the child she never had. Kurt brightened a little as Carole draped it around him, his fingers tangling in the cloth. "Better?"

"I still wanna go home," Kurt whispered. "I don't wanna be sick."

Carole sat down beside him. "It's going to get better, sweetheart," she reassured him. He huddled deeper under the covers, sliding his thumb in his mouth. "And soon you'll be home in your own bed, and that'll make you feel better."

"Not likely," Burt said darkly. "The doctor wants to keep him here for at least a month. Says he needs to be observed."

Carole frowned. "But he doesn't need to be observed," she said, squeezing Kurt's skinny thigh gently. "He just-"

Someone knocked lightly on the door. "Mr. Hummel?" Alice said, peeking into the room. "The psychologist is here to talk to Kurt."

"I'm staying with him," Burt said firmly.

Carole patted his arm as she got up. "I'll come back later," she said. She leaned over and kissed Kurt on the cheek. "You keep resting, baby, all right?" He nodded obediently. "I'm going to go talk to your doctor."

Burt sat down beside Kurt on the bed as the nurse checked over his IV and tubes. "You wanna talk to the doctor?" he whispered. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Kurt shrugged, nestling closer into his side as he sucked busily on his thumb.

The therapist walked into the room with a smile, shutting the door behind her. "Hi," she said. "I'm Dr. Suzanne."

Kurt hid his face in Burt's shirt. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Burt repeated, petting Kurt's damp hair.

The therapist pulled up a chair and sat down beside Kurt's bed. "I promise, we're not going to do anything scary," she said. She pulled the attached tray towards Kurt and placed several large sheets of paper and a pack of brand new crayons on it. Kurt pulled a little away from Burt, his interest piqued. "Do you like to color?"

Kurt nodded, his thumb slipping a little from lips. Dr. Suzanne smiled. "Would you like to draw a picture for me, Kurt?" she said. "I want you to draw the happiest memory you have. Whatever it is."

She inched the paper a little bit closer and opened the box of crayons. Kurt peeked inside and selected a color after long deliberation. Burt kept his arm around Kurt's shoulders, absently rubbing his thumb against the soft ridges of his ribs as he colored. The therapist kept up a gentle, steady stream of questions- nothing deeply probing, nothing about _how did it make you feel when your mother left you to die? _Nice things, neutral things- where he was born (a hospital in Ohio), what his favorite class in school was (math, because everything made sense, unlike the unpredictability of phonics), how he was feeling (tired, mostly).

"Who's your best friend?" Dr. Suzanne asked.

The steady scribbling paused. "Blaine," Kurt whispered.

"Can you tell me about Blaine?" she inquired. Kurt shrugged, returning to his coloring. "Where do you know him from? Does he live in your apartment building?"

"No, he goes to my school," Kurt said, still looking down at his half-drawn picture. "We can't be friends anymore, though. Mommy said so."

Burt inadvertently squeezed Kurt's side. "Why doesn't your mom want you to be friends with Blaine?" he blurted out. He glanced at the therapist, checking to see if he'd done something wrong by barging in, but the therapist was just studying Kurt carefully.

"I told Mommy that I love Blaine," Kurt said. "She said that it's bad to love a boy. And 'sides, no one loves me. I'm naughty. Mommy told me so."

Burt lifted Kurt onto his lap, rumpling the blue blanket and sliding the drawing across the tray. "People love you, kiddo," he said. "Lots of people do. You're a good kid."

Kurt slid his thumb into his mouth and said nothing.

"Can I see your picture, Kurt?" Dr. Suzanne asked. She picked up the drawing. "Tell me about it."

Kurt popped his thumb out of his mouth. "That's at Mister Burt's house," he whispered, pointing to the drawing.

"Who's this?" Dr. Suzanne asked.

"Sammy," he said. "That's Mister Burt's dog. And that's Blaine, and Finn, and Lucy, and that's me."

"Who's Mister Burt?" the therapist asked. Kurt responded by tugging on Burt's shirt sleeve. Dr. Suzanne smiled. "Your foster dad?" She looked to Burt for confirmation.

"His mom put him in the emergency placement program back in March," he explained. "I had him up until October. He…he had to go back."

"Do you like living with him?" Dr. Suzanne asked. Kurt nodded, hiding his face in Burt's chest, still sucking feverishly on his thumb. She smiled. "You did really well for our evaluation, Kurt. You're a very bright little boy."

Kurt didn't react to the praise. The therapist packed up her things, gave Kurt a gentle pat on the knee, and beckoned to Burt. He followed her to the door. "It's going to take some time to get to the root of Kurt's trauma," she whispered. "He's very closed off."

Burt folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, look, I don't understand any of this psychobabble stuff, so you're gonna have to shoot straight."

"We need a lot of patience," she said. "That's the most important thing. I'm going to meet with him in the hospital daily for the duration of his stay here, and we'll probably set up weekly appointments after that. Sensory therapy might be helpful for him too. I don't want to get him started on medication right out of the gate, so I'll monitor him carefully and let you know if we should get a psychiatrist involved. If he does need medication, it'll probably be mild- a small dose of antidepressant, maybe a mood stabilizer."

Burt sighed heavily. "What can I do?" he asked. "I'm…I'm not good at any of this. At all. I just…I don't want to mess him up more than he already is."

Dr. Suzanne smiled. "Just take care of him," she said. "He trusts you more than any other adult in his life, and he feels safest in your house."

"He'd feel a lot better if he was at home with me, and not in this hospital," Burt said bitterly.

"We'll just have to wait and see," the therapist said. "I'll work on his psychological injuries, the doctors will tend to his physical condition…and you'll just have to take care of his heart." She patted Burt's arm kindly. "I'll work on his evaluation, and I'll be back to see him tomorrow."

Burt suppressed a sigh. He'd prefer repairing a destroyed engine. That at least made sense.

He glanced back at Kurt. "I'm gonna go find Miss Carole," he said. "I'll be right back, okay? You lie down and rest. I can put in a movie for you when you come back, that sound good?"

Kurt slid deeper under the covers, pulling them up to his chin. He coughed into his hands, his whole body shaking, and Burt turned away to walk down the hall.

He could hear Carole arguing in a low voice, the sound obscured, as he approached the waiting room. She was deep in discussion with several doctors, her mouth drawn down as she whispered. Burt dropped into the vacant seat beside Finn.

"You doin' all right, buddy?" he asked.

"Yeah," Finn sighed. "Can I see Kurt now?"

Burt shook his head. "Let's wait on your mom," he said.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Burt zoned out, staring at the ceiling while Finn aimlessly watched a cartoon playing quietly on the waiting room television. He was so tired- he hadn't even realized how tired he was.

"Mom's coming back!" Finn said cheerfully, and Burt forced himself to sit up and crash back into reality.

Carole strode over to them, smiling widely. "Guess what?" she said.

"What?" Finn said, leaping up to wrap his arms around her waist.

Carole hugged him tightly and kissed the top of his head. "I've gotten clearance from Kurt's doctor," she said proudly. "As soon as he's off the nastrogastric tube and can eat normally again, he can go home. I've been cleared to continue his care at home."

Burt gaped at her. "Are…are you serious?" he sputtered. "You…you're okay with this?"

"He'll be so much happier when he gets home to his own bed and his own surroundings," Carole said, rubbing Finn's back affectionately. "I'm happy to do it. I want to do it."

The tension in Burt's shoulders faded a little. "Carole, I can't…you don't even understand," he said. "Thank you. I just-"

She squeezed his arm. "I'm happy to do it," she repeated firmly.

"Yay, Kurt's coming home!" Finn exclaimed.

"Not yet, sweetie," Carole said. "He has to get a little stronger first."

Finn tugged on her sleeve. "Mom, can't I see him?" he begged. "Please, I wanna see him. I just want to say hi."

"You sure about this, bud?" Burt asked warily. Finn nodded, chin set and eyebrows drawn down.

Carole smoothed his hair. "Kurt's very sick, sweetie," she said. She sat down in a chair and took Finn's hands in hers, looking up into his face. "Remember when you had that really bad cold last winter, and you had to sleep with the humidifier in your room so you wouldn't be so stuffed up?" Finn nodded. "Kurt's having trouble breathing, just like you did when you had your cold, so he has to have oxygen in his nose so he can feel better."

"Okay," Finn said, nodding enthusiastically.

Carole squeezed his hands. "He has a tube in his nose too," she said. "He….his mommy didn't give him anything to eat, and his tummy is so sensitive right now that he can't eat normal food. The doctors had to put a tube in his nose that goes right to his tummy."

"Okay," Finn said again, but his confidence seemed to be waning a little.

Carole bit her lip. "Honey, you're sure?" she said.

"Positive," Finn said.

Carole stood up, her hand still clasped in her son's. "All right," she said. "Let's go see Kurt, hm?"

Burt followed them back down the hall towards Kurt's room. He paused outside the door. "Let me see if he's awake first," he said. "He looked sleepy when I left, maybe he's taking a nap."

He peeked into the room and stepped cautiously inside. "Kurt," he whispered. "Kurt, are you awake?"

Kurt turned slowly towards him, his eyes ringed by violet shadows. "Don't wanna sleep," he said.

Burt sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Finn's here to see you," he said, rubbing Kurt's stomach lightly. "You want him to come visit?"

Kurt nodded a little bit. Burt adjusted his blankets around him, tucking him in securely. "All right, you guys can come on in," he said.

Carole walked in first, smiling brightly as she enfolded Kurt in her arms. "Do you feel a little better, sweetheart?" she said. He shrugged, allowing her to smooth his hair and tuck him in. "Guess what, honey?"

"What?" he whispered.

She kissed his thin cheek. "If you can get better," she said, "well enough to get off the feeding tube and eat real food again, then you get to go home."

Color flooded Kurt's sallow face. "Home?" he repeated.

"Home with Mister Burt," Carole confirmed. "You'll stay home, and I'll take care of you, and you won't have to stay in the hospital anymore. How does that sound? Do you think you can get strong enough to come home?"

Kurt rubbed his eyes. "I wanna go home now," he whispered.

"Not yet, honey," she said, rubbing his knee. "When you're a little stronger, okay? You need to get lots of sleep and let the feeding tube work." Kurt still looked crestfallen, but Carole smoothed her hand against his cheek. "How would you like to have a visitor, hm?"

Kurt shrank back a little. "I dunno," he whispered.

"Finn came to see you, bud," Burt said. "D'you want to see him?"

Kurt paused, then finally nodded. Carole patted his arm. "I'll tell him he can come in, then," she said.

She got up and crossed to the door. Burt stroked his back. "You want to take a nap later?" he asked. "You look tired."

Kurt gritted his teeth. "Don't want to sleep," he said. He turned towards him. "Only if you stay."

Burt squeezed his hand. "I'll stay," he promised.

The door opened. "Finn, honey, come on in," Carole said.

Burt could see the trepidation written across Finn's face. He hid a little behind his mother as he shuffled into the room, all of his bravado gone. Even his mother's coaching hadn't prepared for how startling it was to see Kurt. Burt didn't blame him. Finn was used to an active little playmate, sturdy and healthy and happy- not a quiet, haggard shell of a child, hooked up to machines.

The color had drained from Finn's face, but he approached Kurt's bed anyways, staring at him unabashed. "Hi," he said to the tube in Kurt's nose.

"Hi," Kurt whispered.

Finn frowned. "Does that hurt?" he asked, pointing to the tube. Kurt shrugged. Burt rubbed his thin arm.

Carole cleared her throat. "Finn, Kurt needs to rest," she reminded him gently. "How about we put in a movie or something?"

"Okay," Finn said. He looked up at Kurt. "Can I sit with you?"

Kurt blinked, surprised. Burt scooted him over gently and patted the empty space on the bed. Finn clambered up beside him and settled down.

Carole picked out a movie from the bag she'd brought, put it in the DVD player, and dimmed the lights. Burt didn't pay much attention to the movie. He zeroed in on Kurt, stroking the rough pad of his thumb against the child's arm, listening to his shaky breathing. Every time his body shook with a cough he pressed his fingers against his arm, as if trying to reassure him that he was fine, he wasn't alone.

_Just fall asleep, _he urged mentally, watching the sluggish sweep of Kurt's eyelashes as he struggled to stay awake. _Just go to sleep. You'll be okay._

But Kurt wouldn't fall asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****lasdjfdklfjklds. It's times like these that I feel like I need to finish my Kurt Hummel plushie, because I really need to cuddle something right now.

I can't really think of any interesting author's notes right now! Um...well...

I based a lot of Kurt's meeting with the therapist on my own memories of therapy as a child. I don't how much of his therapy sessions we'll see in the future, but eh, who knows?

And hopefully Kurt will be home soon. And hopefully he'll start talking again soon, because he's just not even there right now. Poor baby.

But yeah! I'm going to start on the next chapter now.

And also work on my stripper!Kurt AU oneshot. What is with me and my AUs lately?


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hey, buddy, we're home," Burt murmured, reaching into the back of the car to unbuckle Kurt from his carseat. The child dozed lightly, his head tipping to the side. Burt scooped him up easily.<p>

"I've got his bag," Carole said, closing the car door. She smiled and patted Kurt's cheek. "Hey, sleepy boy. Let's get you inside, okay?" Burt pulled the blankets tighter around Kurt as they crossed the snowy driveway to the house. He pressed his cheek to Kurt's forehead- still warm. Too warm. His fever still hadn't dropped to normal levels. Carole had had to pull out all the stops to convince the doctors to go through with the plan of sending Kurt home to recover.

"You're home, kiddo," Burt murmured, patting Kurt's bony hip. "Welcome home."

Carole unlocked the front door and ushered them inside. "Go ahead and put him to bed, I'll get things settled," she said, crossing over to the thermostat and switching on the heat.

Burt nodded and carried Kurt up the stairs. The little boy blinked sleepily, his blue eyes fogged. "Look, bud," he said, nudging the lightswitch. "You're home. You're in your bedroom again. All yours."

Kurt raised his head a little, glancing around. He seemed to perk up a little, just for a second, and then he rested his cheek back against Burt's shoulder. Burt suppressed a sigh and tugged the blankets back from Kurt's bed.

_This is supposed to be normal, _he told himself as he set Kurt carefully on the bed. _This is the new normal._

The therapist had reassured him that Kurt was going to be okay. This was just a phase- a coping mechanism. It was normal that Kurt seemed so much younger- frail and silent and clingy. It was okay that he'd reverted right back to night terrors and wetting the bed at night and rarely speaking.

He's protecting himself, the therapist kept telling him. Be present. Be gentle. Be encouraging. Pay attention. Don't force things. Keep skin-to-skin contact. Be patient.

Burt was trying. He really was.

"There you go, buddy," he said, setting Kurt down carefully on the bed. He pulled the blankets up to Kurt's shoulders, smoothing them out gently, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You good? Need another blanket?"

"'m okay," Kurt murmured.

Burt sat down on the edge of the bed. "You wanna take a nap?" he asked. Kurt nodded, his long lashes drooping into sleep. Burt tucked him in snugly. "Then you go to sleep. Call if you need me, okay?"

Kurt huddled under his covers. Burt flicked off the lights, leaving the nightlight on, and left the door open just a crack.

He walked downstairs to find Carole unpacking Kurt's bag. "Did you put him to bed?" she asked.

"He went out like a light," Burt confirmed. "He's exhausted."

"Poor little boy," Carole said. "I'd better get his IV set up before I go to school to pick up the boys."

"Wait…the boys?" Burt said, frowning.

Carole picked up Kurt's clothes to put in the washing machine. "Blaine is coming to visit Kurt, remember?" she said quietly. "He's been begging his mother to let her see Kurt since he found out…what happened."

Burt paused. "He knows?" he said.

Carole nodded. "I called Blaine's mother when we knew for sure that Kurt was going to recover," she said. "Lucy's too."

"How'd they take it?" Burt asked.

Carole carefully unpacked the medical supplies the hospital had sent home with them. "As well as could be expected," she said. "They're so young they still don't fully grasp what's going on. Lilah explained to Blaine how sick Kurt is, but all Blaine can talk about is seeing him again."

Burt exhaled slowly. "I'm gonna go sit with him," he said sharply, turning on his heel and stalking upstairs.

He couldn't explain why it made him so angry to think about Blaine coming to see Kurt. Happy, spoiled, innocent Blaine. He was a nice enough little kid, but…it wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

He pulled up a chair beside Kurt's bed, watching the little boy sleep fitfully, face screwed up in pain. Carole came in quietly to set up Kurt's IV, carefully inserting the tube without waking him. When she finished, she tucked him back under the blankets and kissed him on the cheek, then patted Burt's arm.

"I'm going to go pick up the boys," she said quietly. "You'll be all right with him?"

Burt nodded. Carole squeezed his shoulder and left quietly.

He stayed by Kurt's side, watching his pale little face for any signs of change. Kurt slept restlessly, his small fingers occasionally twitching and contracting, as if he was trying to grasp something in his dream. At one point Burt reached over to stroke Kurt's fragile knuckles with his fingertip, trying to soothe him in some small way.

Kurt started awake as the front door opened and excited boy voices echoed in the house before they were quickly shushed. "Hey, buddy," Burt soothed, squeezing Kurt's small fingers. "It's okay. Finn's home from school, that's all."

Kurt started to say something, but he inhaled sharply and broke into a coughing fit. Burt picked up another pillow and lifted Kurt's back enough to tuck it behind him. Kurt settled back, his coughs dying down. "You want a drink?" he asked.

Kurt nodded, covering his mouth with his hand. Burt patted his shoulder lightly and stood up to go downstairs. "I'll be right back," he promised.

He walked into the kitchen to find two eager little third graders waiting for him. "Hi, Mister Burt!" Blaine chirped, waving from his seat at the kitchen table. "I came to visit!"

"Yeah, I see," Burt said. He walked over to the cabinet to pull down a small cup. "You kids have a good day at school?"

"Mostly," Finn said, plunking down on the chair across from Blaine. "We had a spelling test today. I'm not very good at spelling."

Burt filled the glass up with water. Blaine twisted around in his chair to watch him. "Mister Burt, can we see Kurt now?" he asked.

"Finish your snack first," Carole smiled, setting down a plate of cookies. "Do you two want some milk?"

"Uh-huh," Finn said eagerly.

"I'll go stay with Kurt," Burt said. "I'll let you know if he's ready to see people."

He headed back upstairs and placed the cup in Kurt's hands. "Drink slow," he cautioned. Kurt nodded and sipped at the cool water. "Drink it all."

Kurt obeyed, waiting until he'd drained the glass to hand it back to Burt. "You've got some visitors," he said. "You want to see them?"

Kurt blinked. "Who is it?" he asked in a small voice.

"Finn," Burt said. "And Blaine. You want them to come see you?"

"Yeah," Kurt said in a small voice. He frowned. "Can I comb my hair first, please?"

Burt paused, then laughed in relief. "Yeah, kiddo," he said, ruffling Kurt's hair. "You can comb your hair."

He found a comb in Kurt's nightstand drawer and handed it to him. Kurt dragged the comb through his untidy bedhead until it looked a little more presentable. Burt smiled and chucked Kurt lightly under his chin. "You need a haircut, buddy," he said. "Maybe Carole can give you a trim or something."

Kurt shrugged and handed the comb back to him. Burt kissed the top of his head. "Ready for the boys to come in and see you?" he asked. Kurt nodded, his chin jutting out. Burt put the comb away and headed downstairs.

"Hey," he said. "You boys want to see Kurt?"

Blaine jumped up, nearly overturning his milk. "Yeah!" he said eagerly.

Burt held out his hands. "Calm down, calm down," he said. "You've got to be gentle with him. You can only go in one at a time, or it might be too much for him." He beckoned to them. "Come on. Let's go."

The two boys followed him up the stairs. Burt swallowed down his apprehension. "Finn, you can go in first," he said. "Don't get him worked up, though."

"I won't, I won't," Finn promised.

Burt watched from the doorway as Finn crept cautiously into Kurt's room. "Hi," he said. "It's me. Finn."

"I know," Kurt said, curling his knees up to his chest. "Hi."

Burt kept a sharp eye on the two children. Finn leaned across the foot of the bed, his arms crossed as he told Kurt every detail of his mundane school day. Burt scrutinized Kurt's face for signs of tiredness, but while his blue eyes were fogged over and he didn't say much, Finn's incessant talking didn't seem to bother him.

Blaine tugged on Burt's sleeve. "When do I get to see him?" he whispered loudly.

"In a bit, buddy," Burt said, patting his dark curly hair. "Let him talk to Finn for a little while."

Blaine tried to wait patiently, but he was clearly unsuccessful. He rocked up on his toes, hands clasped behind his back. He started to hum under his breath.

Burt sighed. "All right, all right, you can go see him," he said. He leaned into the bedroom. "Kurt? You want to see Blaine?"

Kurt sat up a little bit and nodded. Burt smiled. "All right, Finn, let's let Blaine have a turn," he said. "Go on. Go downstairs and play or something. Take Sammy on a walk."

"Okay!" Finn said, brightening as he popped off the bed. "Can we go to the park?"

"Just around the block," Burt warned. Finn zipped past him. "And put your coat on!"

Blaine unclasped his hands. "Now?" he said.

Burt tapped the door open. "Go on."

Blaine tiptoed into Kurt's bedroom, hazel eyes alight. "Hi, Kurt!" he said brightly, and then he faltered.

Burt didn't blame him for it. He knew Blaine had been expecting his old friend, just like before, but a little under the weather. Not a drastic change like this.

Blaine dug the tip of his red sneaker into the carpet. "Hi," he said in a small voice.

Kurt folded his fingers in a little wave.

Blaine edged a little closer. "I missed you," he offered.

Kurt's white cheeks pinked a little. "I missed you too," he said.

Blaine brightened. "I read our book while you were gone," he said. "Remember? Velveteen Rabbit?"

Kurt looked a little uncertain. Blaine plucked the book off the shelf and climbed onto the bed beside him. "You'll remember," he said. He nestled close to Kurt's side and opened the book. Kurt leaned in close as Blaine turned the pages, tucking his thumb into his mouth and hugging Big Bun to his frail chest. The IV tubing trailed away from Kurt's hand.

Burt lingered in the doorway, watching them. It was such a terrible contrast- Blaine's round rosy cheeks against Kurt's hollow pallor, Blaine's bright eyes against Kurt's haunted blue ones, Blaine's bright voice against Kurt's silence.

_It's not fair, _he thought. _Should've happened to him, not to Kurt._

He shook his head. That wasn't true. This shouldn't have happened to anyone.

Blaine read to Kurt, cheerful and steady even when he stumbled over the harder words. Burt leaned against the door, watching faint expression flicker across Kurt's face as he listened to the story and sucked his thumb. It was more than he'd seen from the little boy in a week.

"Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.

"And then, one day, the Boy was ill.

"His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed him."

Kurt cuddled against Blaine's side, wrapped up snugly in his blue blanket. His head slowly drooped to rest against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine nuzzled his cheek against Kurt's. Kurt closed his eyes.

A light hand tapped Burt's shoulder. "Burt?" Carole said softly. "Blaine's mother is here to pick him up."

Burt blinked and turned around. Lilah Anderson smiled at him uncertainly "Yeah, hi," he said. "Blaine's been…he's reading to Kurt."

Lilah twisted her fingers together. "How is he?" she asked.

"He's…doing as good as we could hope, I guess," Burt said. "He's gonna need a lot of time."

"I'd imagined," she said. "Have you heard anything about the mother?"

He shook his head. "No word yet," he said. "But they've got alerts going out all over the area. She couldn't have gotten too far."

At least, that's what he hoped.

He cleared his throat. "Let me get the boys," he said.

He looked into the room. Blaine was still reading, his voice soft and slow, but Kurt was fast asleep, his head drooping like a wilted flower on Blaine's shoulder. Burt's heart clenched. "Blaine?" he said quietly. "Your mom's here."

Blaine looked disappointed for a moment, then nodded, setting the book aside. Burt moved in quickly, setting Kurt back against the pillows and tucking the blankets around his shoulders. He bent to kiss Kurt's forehead, stroking his hair back and smoothing the covers before he steered Blaine out of the room, his hand on the child's shoulder.

Lilah smiled at her son. "Hi, sweetheart," she said.

Burt closed the door, and Blaine's face crumpled. Lilah knelt down quickly, brushing his curls away. "Blaine? What's wrong, honey lamb?" she asked anxiously.

Blaine buried his face in his hands. "It makes my heart hurt!" he sobbed. "I don't like it. I don't like it, Mommy!"

Lilah hugged him tightly, pressing his head to her shoulder. "I know," she soothed. "I know, honey."

"It's not fair!" Blaine burst out. "It's not fair at all!"

Burt clenched his fists. "I know, I know," Lilah repeated, rubbing his back. She stood up, cupping his face in her hands and pressing a kiss to his round cheek. "It's going to be okay, honey. Kurt's going to be okay."

Blaine continued to cry, tugging away from his mother's gentle grasp. Burt crouched down to his level. "Hey, buddy," he said. "I know you're upset, but…Kurt was really happy to see you. You made him feel a lot better than he's felt in a while."

Blaine sniffed, knuckling his eyes, and nodded a little. Burt squeezed his shoulder. "You wanna come back and see him again tomorrow?" he offered. Blaine nodded eagerly, looking up at his mother for permission. She smiled, hugging him into her side. Burt grinned. "I'll tell Kurt you'll be back. He'll be excited."

Blaine nodded, clinging to his mother's hand, and Burt exhaled slowly. If having Blaine around could make Kurt perk up, then he wouldn't mind it if the kid moved in completely.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Hey look! It's me!

Sorry for the unexpected hiatus! Things have been tremendously stressful in my house as of late, but it looks like things are calming down. So here! Have a chapter! There's plenty of baby!Klaine!

But yeah. This is a rather expositiony chapter, but Kurt is officially off the feeding tube and sent home to recover under Carole's care. Poor sweet baby. He's not doing well at all. The next chapter is going to be a doozy.

I'm just going to go write happy baby Klaine now.

Also! My best writing friend Meg and I have embarked on an ambitious collaboration project. If you enjoy Klaine, time travel, angst, people who speak in Shakespeare quotes, evil futuristic corporations, and mysterious redheads with no social skills, then please check out Threnody. It's going to be fun. In an angsty, historical way.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt pushed the door to Kurt's bedroom open, his heart leaping into his throat. "Kurt?" he called. "Kurt, it's okay, buddy, you're okay."<p>

He flipped on the lightswitch, flooding the dark room in warm yellow light, and stumbled towards the bed. Kurt thrashed against the suffocating weight of his comforter and blankets, screaming in terror. Burt yanked the covers back. "You're okay," he said, raising his voice over Kurt's screams. He smoothed Kurt's hair away from his hot damp forehead, hands trembling. "You're okay, little boy. You're okay. It's just a bad dream."

Kurt screamed, hollow and feral, sound scraping against the back of his throat, his thin arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Burt didn't even notice when Carole stepped in beside him until she gently lifted Kurt from the bed and set him on her lap. She didn't say anything, just settled him against her shoulder and began to stroke his back, humming softly. Kurt's screams began to soften, just a little bit.

"Mister Burt?" a small voice said from the hall. "Mommy?'

Burt turned around. Finn stood in the doorway, all arms and legs in his slightly-too-small pajamas, his hair sticking up and his eyes terrified. "It's okay, bud, Kurt just had a nightmare," Burt said, swallowing down the dryness in his throat before he could speak. "Go back to bed. It's okay."

Carole smoothed her hand up and down Kurt's bony back, still humming, sweet and steady. Kurt's screaming died down bit by bit, until his blue eyes slowly opened, still hazy and unfocused.

"It's all right," Carole murmured, her arms tight around him. Kurt clung to her sleeve, his breathing harsh and seizing. He made a rhythmic grunting noise in the back of his throat, over and over, quiet and panicky. "It's all right. It was just a bad dream. You're safe. You're safe."

She continued to speak to him softly until he finally collapsed against her, his whole body shaking with exertion. "That's my sweet boy," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Do you feel a little better?"

He nodded a little. Carole rocked him a little bit, pressing his head to his shoulder. "Can you go downstairs and get him some water?" she asked Burt softly. "I'm going to get him cleaned up. I think he had another accident."

Burt gritted his teeth. Kurt couldn't go a night anymore without wetting the bed. "I got it," he said gruffly, reaching down to squeeze her shoulder.

He padded down the stairs and flipped on the kitchen lights. Sammy raised his head from his worn bed in the corner. "Don't you dare bark," Burt warned as he reached into the cabinet for a clean plastic cup. The light on the microwave blinked a neon green 2:47 as he filled the cup with cold water and snapped on a lid. The sippy cups were a new addition to the family dishware- Kurt was still too weak to hold a normal glass on his own, much less keep it from spilling.

He trudged back up the stairs and into Kurt's bedroom. Carole was talking to the little boy in a gentle voice, soft and slow, as she carefully dressed him in clean pajamas. He seemed dazed, lost in his own little world. "You'll be back to sleep in a little bit, baby," she crooned, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "You can go right back to sleep."

Burt handed the sippy cup to Kurt without a word, reaching over to tuck his small thin fingers around the cup. Carole held the little boy on her lap. "You need to drink your water, honey," she murmured.

Kurt tried to obey, his hands shaking as he raised the cup to his white lips. Burt stood close by, just watching in silence. It made his heart ache.

When the cup was empty, Carole took it from his small hands and set it on the nightstand. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart," she said, leaning him back down and tucking him in snugly. His eyes closed almost immediately, drugged and sluggish.

Burt gazed at him, watching the shallow rise and fall of his narrow chest. Carole touched his arm lightly. "Let's let him sleep," she whispered, guiding him towards the door.

He allowed her to lead him out, the exhaustion settled around him like a thick fog. Carole's hand was warm and strong in his, and he willingly went back to bed, forcing his mind to think about anything other than the fact that Kurt wasn't getting any better.

He would get better. He would. He had to.

His alarm went off at six and he dragged himself up. Work was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn't have another choice. Carole's hours at the emergency clinic had been drastically reduced, now that she was staying home with Kurt so much, and with two little boys to take care of, someone had to put in some extra hours.

_I really ought to marry her, _he thought as he switched the coffeepot on. Sure, it hadn't even been a year since he'd met her, and they'd sort of rushed into the whole living together thing. But he'd never met someone as kind and loyal and loving as her before. Well, since Mollie, at least.

He paused long enough to say goodbye to the boys before he left. Finn was fast asleep in his cluttered basement bedroom; the rafters were still unfinished and the far wall was still lined with storage boxes. Maybe if things turned out a little more permanent, he could turn this into a playroom for both boys and build a separate bedroom for Finn. He could see them playing down here, the floor littered with toys and sports equipment, and see them lounging around as lazy teenagers, wearing out their thumbs with video game controllers with their friends.

_Don't get ahead of yourself, Hummel, _he thought. _Finn's not your kid. _But he bent to tuck him back in anyway, gently shifting the child's long arms and legs back onto the mattress and pulling the sleep-twisted sheets back over him.

It was hard to remember that Finn wasn't his son. He was a good kid, eager to please and desperate to be well-liked. He didn't always do the right thing, but he meant well. And Burt knew he was starved for a father's love. Carole loved him and provided everything she could, but sometimes there were holes only a dad could fix.

And then there was Kurt.

Burt climbed the stairs, his heart growing heavier with every step. If he had to remind himself that Finn wasn't his child, it was ten times worse with Kurt. The social worker still checked in from time to time, and every time he asked about Kurt's mother. No news. No clues. No nothing.

Sometimes he thought about what would happen if they never found his mother. He could be Kurt's dad then. Adopt him, make it official.

But right now…he wasn't anything, really. He wasn't Kurt's dad.

He tapped the bedroom door open slowly. Kurt slept deeply, his head tilting to his shoulder and his back propped up on pillows. The oxygen mask was strapped over his nose and mouth again, and his heart gave a sickening lurch. Carole must've checked on him during the night again, only to find him struggling to catch his breath. He was having a hell of time trying to shake the pneumonia that sat heavy on his lungs.

Burt sat down beside him and wrapped his callused fingers around Kurt's frail ones. His skin was dry and hot, still radiating with fever. He reached over and brushed a lock of hair from Kurt's burning forehead. Kurt didn't wake.

They'd had to start drugging him to get him to sleep. He hated it, and he knew Kurt did too, but they didn't have a choice. Kurt had forced himself to stay awake, even though his eyes kept sliding shut and he would periodically sink into a brief, restless doze. When he started to have waking nightmares- sitting straight up, eyes open, whimpering and crying out from hallucinations no one else could see- Burt agreed to the medication. It left the little boy sluggish and thick-tongued, lost in a fog, but it allowed him to sink into long periods of dreamless sleep that hopefully helped his exhausted body recover.

It was almost worth the rounds of night terrors that plagued him when the dosage wore off.

He sat there for a while, rubbing his thumb slowly across the back of Kurt's hand, listening to the rattling of his tiny chest as he breathed. Time ticked by. He should have left for the shop by now.

"We still might lose him, you know."

Burt started. He glanced back to see Carole in the doorway, her brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail and her pajamas rumpled. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but she was pressing her lips together in an effort to keep her chin from wobbling.

"He's not getting better, Burt," she said softly.

He turned back to Kurt, cupping the child's hot little hand in both of his. "So what do we do?" he asked, his voice rough.

"It's not up to us," she said. "It doesn't matter how badly we want him to get better. He's so far gone. He's so tired. If he can't find the strength to get better, if he's not strong enough to fight…"

Her voice trailed off. Burt kept his thumbs soft against the bones of Kurt's palm. He refused to look at her. "Maybe we need to put him in the hospital again," Carole said. "Maybe that would make a difference."

"But it's worse for him there," Burt said, his voice low. "You know that. He was miserable."

"Yes, I know, but maybe a more aggressive care plan…" She sighed. "You need to get to work."

He set Kurt's limp hand down against his chest and bent to kiss his forehead, closing his eyes against the heat of the little boy's skin. Kurt slept on.

He paused long enough to give Carole's shoulder an affectionate, silent squeeze; she patted his fingers and offered him a faint smile. "I'll see you tonight," she said. He nodded and headed off to work.

But work didn't offer much respite. Things were slow. Not enough to do, not enough to hold his attention. Not enough to keep him occupied, instead of thinking. But he didn't want to think.

With few cars to work on, he threw himself into paperwork- organizing files, cleaning out cluttered old papers, tossing old receipts. It gave him something to do, as meaningless as it was.

The frantic phone call came at five.

"Burt? Burt, something came up. I need you to come home."

A chill shot down his spine. "What's wrong? Is Kurt okay?" he demanded.

"What? No, no, he's fine," Carole said. "The clinic called. It's an emergency and they need me to come in and work the overnight shift. I need you to come home and take care of Kurt."

His shoulders relaxed. "I'll be there," he said. "When do you need to be there?"

"About an hour and a half," Carole said. "Can you-"

"I'm on my way," Burt reassured her.

He made it home in record time, despite the light snowfall. Carole didn't even notice him come in, too busy with putting something together on the stove. "I'm home," he said, sidestepping the pile of little boy backpacks and shoes and coats on the living room floor.

"Oh, good," she called. He stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the fridge to stay out of her way; she was already dressed in scrubs and white sneakers. "I'm getting some dinner together for Kurt. I wanted to get that together before I take the boys out."

Burt frowned. "Which boys and where?" he asked.

Carole sighed. "Blaine came over to play after school," she said. "There's not enough time for me to take Blaine home or have his mother pick him up from here before I leave, so I'm taking him and Finn over to the Trevelyan's house. I don't want to leave you alone with a houseful of children."

Burt shifted his weight. "Is Kurt doing okay?" he asked.

"He's holding together," she said. "Can you go upstairs and get the boys ready to go? I'm going to leave in a few minutes."

"Sure," he said, heading up the stairs in search of the kids.

It was awfully quiet, which was usually a warning sign that the boys were up to something, but he tapped the bedroom door open to find all three of them piled on the bed, watching a movie.

Burt paused in the doorway. Kurt didn't look better, but he didn't look worse. He wasn't wearing the oxygen mask and he was propped up on pillows, his eyes pale and sleepy. Finn sprawled up against him- back pressed against the headboard, hands knotted across his stomach, one long leg tossed carelessly over Kurt's. Blaine curled up on Kurt's other side, his head resting on the smaller boy's knees. Kurt patted Blaine's dark curls sleepily, almost absentmindedly. His other thumb was tucked in his mouth.

Burt cleared his throat. Finn looked up, but Blaine only yawned. "Hey, kids," he said. "Finn, Blaine, Carole's gonna take you over to Lucy's house to play. Go get your stuff."

Blaine yawned again, rolling onto his back and stretching across Kurt's knees like a drowsy puppy. Finn scowled. "We don't wanna go," he said. "Can we stay?"

"You gotta go," Burt said. He ruffled Finn's hair affectionately, then scooped Blaine up and set him on his feet. "Come on, come on."

"But I want to stay with Kurt," Blaine said, his voice almost verging on a whine.

Burt paused the movie. "You can come over and play some other time," he said. He sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed and kissed his forehead. "Hey, bud. How're you feeling?" Kurt shrugged, still sucking on his thumb.

Carole walked into the room, smiling at Kurt with a bowl in her hands. "I brought you some dinner, sweetheart," she said, setting the bowl down on the nightstand. She tugged him up into a sitting position and smoothed out his blankets. "Are you hungry?'

"I don't know," he said, blinking up at her with owlishly round eyes.

She set the bowl in his hands and gave him a spoon. "It's just some soup," she coaxed. "Try to eat a little bit, okay?"

Kurt took a small bite, then another. "Not so fast, sweetie," she said. "I don't want you to throw up again." She glanced back at Burt. "He got sick after lunch today."

Burt nodded. It was still hard to get Kurt to eat properly.

_Maybe we do need to take him back to the hospital, _he thought, eyeing the sallow pallor of Kurt's skin and the way his collarbone jutted out. But Kurt hated the hospital. He would probably sink faster there than at home.

_Don't think about him dying, _he told himself.

"I'll take the boys over to Lucy's house," Carole said, busying herself with tidying up Kurt's room. "I'll get off my shift at six, so I'll be home sometime early tomorrow morning. Annie said she could keep Finn for as long as we need." She brushed a hand over Kurt's hair, smoothing down the soft flyaways. "I need you to take his temperature at eight, okay? And he's got some medicine to take then, right before he goes to bed."

Burt nodded. He knew the dosage- two teaspoons of a sticky sweet brown syrup that forced Kurt to fall asleep, fast and heavy.

Kurt choked a little, dropping his spoon into the bowl. Carole took it quickly from his hands, setting it aside, and shushed him gently. "You're okay, you're okay," she soothed. "Deep breaths, sweetie." She rubbed his back. "Are you full for now?"

He nodded, curling up against his pillows. She bent to kiss his cheek, pausing briefly to touch the back of her hand to his hot skin, and looked back to Burt. "If he gets hungry again before bed, there's more soup on the stove," she said. "And you can call me if you need me, any time. Or if you're worried about him at all, if he's getting worse…just bring him right in, okay?"

He nodded. "I got this," he said.

He might have been lying.

Finn stuck his head in the room. "Mom, we're ready," he said.

"Blaine too?" Carole asked.

Blaine darted into the room and jumped onto Kurt's bed. "Bye, Kurt," he said, throwing his arms around the smaller boy's neck. Kurt sort of smiled, patting Blaine's forearm lightly. "Will you be at school next week?"

Burt scooped Blaine up and set on his feet. "Probably not," he said. "You can come visit again later, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine said with a heavy sigh.

Carole herded the boys out of the room with a last kiss on Kurt's cheek. Burt walked them to the front door, handing Blaine his hat and helping Finn zip up his coat. He gave Carole a brief kiss goodbye and closed the door behind them.

When the car pulled out of the driveway and the headlights vanished, he pulled the curtains closed and whistled. Sammy barked and padded out of the kitchen, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "Hey, bud, you hungry?" he asked.

He filled Sammy's bowl, pausing to ruffle the golden retriever's floppy ears, and piled up a sloppily-constructed sandwich for himself. The dog wandered off; Burt ate by himself, flipping through a parts catalogue that had been lying on the kitchen counter.

"Hey, Kurt?" he called. "I'm in the kitchen. You want anything?"

There wasn't an answer, but Burt pulled a carton of vanilla bean ice cream from the freezer and scooped out a small cupful. Kurt's frequent coughing left his throat raw- maybe something sweet and cold would help soothe it.

He stuck his head in Kurt's bedroom. Sammy had climbed up on the bed and sprawled out beside him, letting the little boy rest his head against his furry belly. The dog rested his chin on his paws and watched Burt carefully, as if to say _look, I'm trying to take care of my little human as best as I can. _Kurt rubbed his cheek against the softness of Sammy's fur as he watched a movie on his little television.

"Kiddo," Burt said quietly. Kurt turned to look at him. "I brought you some ice cream. You want some?"

Kurt shrugged. Burt sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Sit up and open your mouth," he said. Kurt obeyed. Burt spooned a little bit of ice cream into his mouth. "That better?"

Kurt opened his mouth for another bite. Burt grinned in relief. He fed Kurt the ice cream slowly, bite by bite, until he offered a spoonful only for Kurt to turn his head away. "All right. All right, we're done."

He tucked Kurt back in and patted Sammy on the head, then picked up the dishes. For a while he just puttered around the house, tidying up the kitchen and picking up the mess that Finn had left behind, but eventually the clock chimed eight. A lump rose in his throat, unbidden. Time to put Kurt to sleep.

"Okay, Sammy, you get on out of here," Burt said, shooing the dog away. He picked up the thermometer from the bedside table. "Open your mouth, Kurt. Hold it in tight."

He stuck the thermometer between Kurt's lips and stood there, arms folded across his chest, waiting for the beep. His temperature was at 101.2- not as high as it had been, but still high enough to be worrisome.

"All right, kid," Burt said. He swallowed his sense of dread and picked up the bottle of medicine. "Open up."

Kurt paled. "No," he said, his voice small and plaintive. "No, please. I don't like it."

Burt poured the medicine onto a spoon, resolute. "You need it, buddy," he said. "It'll help you sleep and bring your fever down. C'mon, open your mouth."

"No," Kurt pleaded. "No, I don't want it. I don't like it."

Burt quietly cupped Kurt's chin in his hand and stuck the spoon between his lips. Kurt whimpered, thrashing weakly at Burt's restraining hands. "One down, one more left," Burt said.

Kurt began to cry, his lips falling slack. He turned away from Burt, pulling from his grasp, but he was small and weak and it didn't take much for Burt to tip the second spoonful into his mouth. "There, we're done," Burt said. He rubbed his thumb across Kurt's lips, wiping a stray drop of medicine away. "Lie down and go to sleep."

"I don't wanna sleep," Kurt wailed. "I don't like to sleep."

Burt made him lie down despite his protests and sat down beside him to wait. Kurt's protests died down into slow, sleepy whines, and finally he drooped into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. Burt draped his covers around him and let himself out silently, shutting the door part of the way.

He couldn't take much more of this. He really couldn't. He hated watching Kurt suffer, hated knowing that there was nothing he could do, hated that his life was so much easier before Kurt got dumped with him.

He hated that he felt like that.

But he couldn't do anything. He wasn't Kurt's dad. He wasn't anything. He was just a clumsy, stupid mechanic. He couldn't fix Kurt. He couldn't be what he needed.

He wasn't meant to be a father.

The night ticked by, slow and quiet. He worked on an old lawnmower engine in the garage. He let Sammy out for a while. He watched a late-night talk show. Carole didn't call, but then again, he wasn't expecting her to.

He went to bed around midnight, locking up the quiet house and giving Sammy one last pat on the head. Kurt was fast asleep, his breathing shallow and rattling in his chest; Burt tucked him in and headed off to his own room and his own empty bed.

It was nearly two in the morning when he heard Kurt screaming.

He was out of bed and down the hall before he was completely awake. His hand slipped on the lightswitch, flooding the small room. "Kurt, it's okay," he said. He glanced back to see if Carole was coming to comfort Kurt before he remembered that she wasn't there.

Kurt cried hard, tears making shiny tracks on his bloodred cheeks. He huddled in the middle of the bed, his covers tangled around him and his blue blanket abandoned on the floor. Burt stumbled over to the bed and sank down beside him, cupping Kurt's cheek in his hand. "What's wrong?" he said. "C'mon, kiddo, calm down and tell me what's wrong."

He realized Kurt was coughing. His whole body shook with the effort, and he sobbed with frustration, struggling to catch his breath. "It's okay," Burt said. "Just calm down. You're making it worse, buddy. Just stop talking and take a breath." Kurt only cried harder; Burt pulled the twisted, sweat-soaked sheets away from his body. "Calm down, Kurt!"

Kurt clamped his hands over his mouth, coughing in harsh breathless gasps, growing more and more frantic by the second. He sounded like he was about to be sick, and just as the thought entered his mind, Kurt leaned over and threw up all over his pajamas and sheets.

Kurt froze, his chest heaving. Burt snapped into action. "It's okay, kiddo, I'm not mad," he said hastily, knowing that that would be the first place the child's mind would go. "I'm not mad. You're okay."

He unbuttoned Kurt's pajama shirt, ripping off a few buttons in his haste, and scooped him up. The child clung to him, still coughing but too startled to cry. Burt carried him into the bathroom and nudged the light on with his shoulder. "You're okay," he repeated, setting Kurt down on the counter. He rummaged around in the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of cough syrup. "Here, kiddo. Open your mouth."

Kurt shook his head and turned away from him. "No, no, it's not the stuff that makes you sleepy," Burt reassured him. "This is the stuff that'll make your cough go away. Come on, Kurt, please, open your mouth."

Kurt obeyed. Burt tossed the empty plastic cup on the counter and picked up a washcloth. He ran it under the cold tap, his shoulders relaxing a little as he listened to Kurt's terrified coughs quiet. "There we go," he murmured, smoothing the cool damp washcloth over Kurt's hot face and neck. Kurt coughed a little bit into the back of his hand, shivering at the touch of the cool water against his skin. Burt eased the washcloth over his chest and jutting ribs. "You're okay, Kurt. You're okay."

He cleaned the little boy up tenderly, then lifted him into his arms and carried him down the hall to the master bedroom. With a careful juggle he turned on the bedside lamp and set him down on the bed. Kurt sagged against the pillows limply, weak as a wet rag. "You stay right here, I'm gonna get your bed cleaned up," Burt said. He ran his thumb over Kurt's forehead. "Don't move, all right?"

He stripped the sheets from Kurt's little bed and tossed them in the washing machine. It whirred to life and Burt slammed the lid down with a resolute clang. He stalked into Kurt's room and snatched up the light blue blanket, then headed back to his own room.

Kurt was curled up on the bed, shivering. His skin was stark white and red in the soft light of the lamp. Burt sighed and laid down beside him. "Feel a little better?" he asked.

Kurt just blinked at him. Burt reached over and touched his cheek. "Go to sleep," he begged softly. "Just go to sleep, kiddo."

Kurt stared at him, his lips slack. Burt began to stroke his hair gently. "I need you to get better, baby," he sad gently. "I can't fix you. I would if I could, but you've gotta fight. You've got to be my tough little fighter."

Kurt's narrow shoulders rose and fell, silent and defeated. Burt pulled him close, lying on his back and tugging the little boy against his chest. "But you know what, kiddo?" he said. He picked up the blue blanket and draped it over Kurt, his hand still pressed tight to the soft hot skin of the child's bare back. "If you can't do it…if you can't fight anymore…that's okay."

He stroked his thumb against the ridges of Kurt's jutting spine; he could feel every unsteady breath the little boy took. "If you can't do it anymore, then…then I'm not going to leave you," he murmured. "If you have to die, you won't die alone in a hospital. I'll hold you, okay?" He kissed the top of his head. "I'll hold you." He rubbed his cheek against the softness of Kurt's hair. "You're my little boy, Kurt. You're my little boy and I'm your daddy, and I'm not going to leave you."

Kurt tucked his small fingers in the neckline of Burt's old tee shirt and pressed his face in the crook of his neck. Burt rubbed his bare back, still hot from his fever. "Daddy's right here," he soothed. "Daddy's not going to leave you, ever. No matter what."

He held his small son close as the night eked on, stroking his back and watching in relief as Kurt's eyes closed and he fell asleep. And he must've fallen asleep at some point too, because one moment he closed his eyes and the next he was squinting into the pale light of an early winter morning.

The first thought that registered was how cold Kurt's skin felt.

Burt rubbed his hand over his face, struggling to wake up as he stared at the child. Kurt's skin felt so cold after the past few weeks of fever. Oh, god, if he'd gone cold…

"Good morning," Carole whispered, a smile in her voice. She squeezed Burt's shoulder. "You should've called me if he had a rough night."

"I didn't…he…" Burt stammered.

Carole smiled, but it wasn't for him. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said, scooping Kurt up and settling him on her hip. She kissed his cheek. "How are you feeling? Pretty good?"

Burt sat up slowly, marveling as Kurt smiled at Carole. "You're okay, bud?" he ventured, willing to hear an answer.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said, resting his cheek against Carole's shoulder.

She brushed a lock of hair from Kurt's forehead, smiling broadly. "His fever broke, Burt," she said, rubbing the small of Kurt's back. "I checked while you were still sleeping, he's down to 99.1"

Burt's mouth went dry. "That's…that's good, right?" he said hollowly.

"That's very good," she said. "That's amazingly good."

Without realizing it, Burt reached for Kurt. The little boy went to him willingly, locking his arms around his neck. Burt hugged him tight.

"Morning, Daddy," Kurt said in a soft, sleepy little voice, and Burt's heart broke and mended all in that one little breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ALL MY ETERNAL CREYS.

BURT IS HIS DAAAAADDY.

All the sobbing.

But yes, Kurt has officially turned the corner and he's going to start _really _getting better. And the next chapter is all about Christmastime, so you can expect some adorable little Hudmel brothers and some adorable baby Klaine, and even some adorable baby Lurty! (We haven't seen Lucy in ages and I miss the little moppet.) And of course, awesome Burtness. And most likely some Barole.

It's been a while since I've written anything- I'm up to five jobs now, plus I've been in two shows. One of them finally wrapped last night, so I've got a little more freetime. Today was my first obligation-free day in three weeks, so I was _terribly _excited. This chapter is probably very rusty, but I hope you love me anyway.

And special thanks to my super sweet medical beta Katelyn! She sobbed through this chapter, apparently.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt tapped the door open and peered inside the darkened bedroom, trying his hardest not to make a sound. His little son made a shadowy lump in the middle of his bed, his blankets heaped around and pulled up to his chin. He crept a little closer and knelt down beside the bed, stroking Kurt's hair lightly off his forehead. Kurt's chest rose and fell gently, his breath warm against Burt's cheek, and he relaxed, relieved to find him still breathing.<p>

He kissed Kurt's soft cheek and smoothed his blankets over him before creeping out of the room. Carole was in the hallway, smiling at him. "You're like a daddy with a newborn," she said, shaking her head.

"What?" Burt said, closing the door as quietly as he could. "I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"You checked on him half a dozen times during the night," she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. "You're exactly the same way I was when Finn was first born."

"I just don't see why you're teasing me," Burt complained, following her down the stairs. "He's been so sick."

"Yes, but he's doing so much better," Carole reminded him gently. "He doesn't need the oxygen anymore, his appetite's back, he's even able to get up and play with Finn."

Burt leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter. "I can't help it," he said. "When he's sleeping or he's somewhere where I can't have my eye on him…I just need to go make sure he's all right."

Carole smiled as she started the coffeepot. "You're exactly the way Finn's father was when Finn was first born," she said. "He spent my whole pregnancy nervous that he wouldn't know what to do when the baby was born, and then Finn was put in his arms and…that was it. It was like a lightbulb turned on." She rubbed his arm. "You're a daddy now, Burt."

Burt drummed his fingers on the counter. "Yeah, just not legally yet," he said.

"There's still no word on his mother, is there?"

He shook his head, his lips thinning. Sometimes when Kurt woke up screaming and crying and throwing up in the middle of the night he dreamed about tracking that woman down and making her go through the hell she forced the child to endure. But no one had been able to find her yet.

Rapid footsteps thumped on the stairs and the basement door banged open as Finn flew into the room. "Merry Christmas Eve!" he boomed, flinging his arms wide.

"Sh, sh, sh, Kurt's still sleeping," Carole laughed. She kissed the top of his head. "Good morning, sunshine."

"Mom, can we have pancakes?" Finn begged. "Please? Pancakes?"

Burt checked his watch. "It's past eight, I guess I can go get Kurt up," he said. "You two start breakfast, I'll go get him."

He rolled his eyes at Carole's poorly hidden grin. As he headed up the stairs he heard a faint little voice calling for him. "Daddy…Daddy…."

He nudged the door open to find Kurt sitting up sleepily in bed, his big stuffed rabbit tucked under his arm. "Daddy?" he yawned.

Burt couldn't help but smile at him. "Morning, buddy," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Kurt immediately scooted onto his lap, sticking his thumb in his mouth and burrowing into his chest. "You want some breakfast?"

Kurt nodded. Burt scooped him up and set him on his hip. "I can walk," Kurt objected, pulling his thumb out of his mouth.

"Fine, fine, you can walk," Burt said. "Go get cleaned up and come downstairs as soon as you're ready, okay?"

"Mmkay," Kurt said, wriggling down to the floor before padding off to the bathroom. Burt ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Better hurry, Carole's making pancakes," he warned.

"Yay!"

Burt smiled to himself. Kurt really was getting a lot better. He was still thin- painfully so, his collarbone and ribs jutting out sharp- and he tired out quickly, often falling asleep with little warning. But he had color in his cheeks, and he was able to get up and play, and he stopped jumping every time someone spoke a little too loudly.

Carole had already started pancakes when he got back to the kitchen, and by the time Kurt came downstairs, dressed in a thick cardigan and dark wash jeans that were baggy on his slim little legs, Finn had already finished off a plateful.

"Morning, honey," Carole said. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. He sidled up to Burt, wrapping his arms around his forearm and leaning his cheek on his shoulder. "Did Finn eat everything?"

"Not quite yet," Carole said. "Hang on just a second and I'll have more ready."

Kurt sighed deeply. Burt kissed the top of his head. "What's wrong, buddy?" he asked.

"Tired," Kurt said.

"But you just woke up."

"But I'm tired."

Burt pushed his empty cereal bowl away and lifted him onto his knees. Kurt cuddled into his chest, rubbing his cheek in the soft flannel of his shirt. "I see what you're up to," Burt grinned. "You just want me to carry you everywhere today, don't you?"

Kurt giggled, the sound muffled in his shoulder. "You gotta wake up, though," Finn said impatiently. "We gotta do Christmas stuff."

"What kind of Christmas stuff?" Kurt inquired.

"Like cookies for Santa!" Finn said. "And Christmas letters!" He paused. "Oh, and Mom, I forgot. Can we go to church with Blaine and Lucy tonight? I told them we were coming."

"I don't know, that's awfully late," Carole said.

Finn glanced slyly over at Kurt. "We get to dress up," he said.

Kurt perked up instantly. "I want to go!" he said.

"Well, we'll wait and see how tired you are," Burt said.

Carole set down a plate with two small pancakes in front of Kurt. "Eat your breakfast, sweetie," she said. "Do you want some milk?"

Kurt nodded. "Daddy, can you help me?" he asked.

"Yeah, but you've got to sit in your chair on your own," Burt laughed. He set Kurt down in his own chair, then spread butter over his pancakes and cut them up in little bite-size pieces.

"Syrup, please?" Kurt asked eagerly.

"You're going to be hyper later," Burt sighed, but he drizzled maple syrup over the pancakes with a grin anyway. "When you're done eating we can do Christmas stuff, okay?" Kurt nodded, already picking up pancake pieces and popping them in his mouth.

Burt wasn't much help when it came to Christmas things, other than untangling lights, but it was fun to watch Carole and the boys get excited. They decorated the tree, they wrote out letters to Santa, and they completely trashed the kitchen baking cookies. Finn kept stealing gobs of cookie dough out of the bowl, but they still managed to make dozens of cookies, filling the house with the smell of warm sugar and gingerbread. He mostly just kept out of the way, working on projects in the garage while Sammy snoozed in the corner, but around midafternoon he peeked his head in to steal a cookie.

"How's it going?" he asked, brushing crumbs off his shirt.

"Pretty good, I think," Carole said. "We'll be eating Christmas cookies till Valentine's Day, though."

Burt grinned, but Kurt suddenly stamped his foot. "Stop it!" he said.

Finn paused. "I wasn't doing anything," he said meekly.

Kurt screwed up his face. "I wanted to do that," he said, pointing at the frosting tube in Finn's hand. "I wanted to help!"

"You were helping," Finn said gently. Kurt's chin began to wobble. "No, don't cry!"

Burt crouched down. "Kurt, are you tired?" he asked.

"No!" Kurt wailed, hiding his face in his hands.

Burt stood up and scooped him up. "I think you need to sleep a while," he said. "I think you're tired."

"Not tired!" Kurt sobbed into Burt's shoulder, his hands winding in the collar of his shirt and holding on tightly. Burt patted his back as he carried him upstairs. He'd gotten pretty good at putting Kurt down for a nap without too much trouble, but Kurt always insisted he didn't need to sleep until his head hit the pillow.

He kept rubbing Kurt's back as he carried him into his bedroom, nudging the door shut with his hip. "You'll feel better when you've had a nap," he said, keeping his voice quiet and slow.

"Don't need a nap," Kurt cried. "I'm not a baby."

"No, no, you're not a baby," Burt soothed. He set Kurt on the bed and unbuttoned his sweater. "You're still sick. You need to rest." He rubbed his thumb against Kurt's cheek. "Come on, don't cry."

"'m not crying," Kurt sniffled, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

He helped Kurt undress down to his boxer briefs and tee shirt before laying him down on the bed and draping his blue blanket over him. Kurt sniffed hard, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb still in his mouth. "You just lie down and take a little rest, and if you're still awake when I check up on you, you might be able to get up, okay?" Burt said.

Kurt nodded. His cheeks looked a little flushed, more than usual, and Burt brushed his hair back to check his forehead. "I'm going to take your temperature when you wake up, okay?" he said. "I don't want you running a fever again."

Kurt nodded. "Can I have a hug before I go to sleep?" he asked in a small voice.

"Sure, kiddo, sure," Burt said, sitting down beside him and leaning down to hug him. Kurt wrapped his small arms around his neck. "Have a good sleep, buddy."

"'Kay," Kurt said, squeezing one last time before lying back down and nestling into his pillow. Burt tucked him in and backed out of the room, watching Kurt's eyes close slowly. He wasn't surprised at all when he checked on him fifteen minutes later and found him fast asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around his big stuffed rabbit.

The rest of the house stayed quiet while Kurt took his nap- even Finn managed to keep his voice down and stop stomping around. Burt pitched in with cleaning the kitchen while Carole and Finn finished up the cookie baking.

An hour and a half passed before Burt went to check on Kurt again, the thermometer in his hand. He expected to find him still sleeping, but Kurt was curled up under his blanket and blinking drowsily at the ceiling.

"Hey, scooter," Burt said, sitting down beside him. He brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead with the back of his hand. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," Kurt said sleepily.

Burt switched on the thermometer and placed it gently in Kurt's ear, waiting for it to beep. "No fever," he said. He tucked his hands under Kurt's arms and picked him up. "Oh, c'mere, sleepy boy."

Kurt rested his head on his broad shoulder and Burt felt his heart give a little skip. Carole was right. He was like a father with a newborn. Holding Kurt made him feel like his world had fallen into place. From the moment Kurt had called him his daddy, it was like a switch had flipped.

He kissed the side of Kurt's head, breathing in the sweet smell of baby shampoo clinging to his hair. "C'mon, kiddo," he said, setting him on his feet. "Up an at 'em. Go get dressed, okay?"

Kurt slid off his lap. "Can we go to church?" he asked. "I wanna get dressed up. I wanna see Blaine and Lucy."

Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll see," he said.

Secretly he was a little reluctant to take Kurt out. They hadn't really taken Kurt out of the house much- they tried a trip to the park a week earlier that ended with Kurt falling asleep at the bottom of the slide after twenty minutes. And he hadn't allowed Kurt's friends to visit him. He wasn't exactly sure why. But it made him nervous to let them around Kurt.

What if they did something, or said something? Even the most unintentional misstep could hurt his little boy.

The therapist had been pretty helpful so far during the twice-weekly visits. The medication had been good for him too. But Kurt was fragile- physically, emotionally, mentally. The last thing he wanted to do was push him too hard.

"I'm dressed, Daddy, can I go downstairs now?" Kurt asked, sounding a little impatient.

"Sure, buddy," Burt said. He stood up, pushing on his knees. "Carole and Finn finished making cookies. Want some?"

Kurt brightened. "Uh-huh!" he said.

The rest of the afternoon passed easily after Kurt's nap. He was back to his sweet self again, munching on cookies with Finn and watching Christmas movies with Carole. Finn kept asking every so often if they could go to the Christmas Eve service and see their friends; Burt kept putting it off, but he almost wanted to give in. Finn hadn't seen his playmates since school let out for Christmas break. It wasn't fair to keep him apart from them too.

Finally Finn asked again and Carole sighed heavily. "Go get dressed," she said. Finn let out an excited whoop and ran for his room. "Kurt, go pick out something nice to wear, okay?"

"Okay!" Kurt asked, beaming from ear to ear.

Carole glanced over at Burt. "They really want to see their friends," she said, half apologetic. "And it's not a long service. Kurt should be fine."

"Yeah, probably," Burt said, but he sounded unconvinced in his own ears.

He got ready for the church service, feeling nervous despite himself. What if Kurt got sick while they were out? What if he had a meltdown? What if someone said something to him that set him off?

"Daddy, do I look nice?"

He looked towards the bedroom door to see Kurt smiling up at him, pink cheeked and starry eyed, all dressed up. "Yeah, kiddo," he said. "You look really nice."

He turned back to the mirror, trying to fix his tie, only to have Kurt's reflection pop up beside his in the mirror. "I'm excited," he confided.

"What're you excited about?" Burt asked.

Kurt leaned his thin cheek on his hand. "I never got to get Christmas before," he said.

Burt paused. "Well, hopefully this'll be a good Christmas," he said at last.

Kurt surveyed his expression solemnly in the mirror, poking experimentally at the dimple in his cheek. "Do you think Blaine will still like me?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't he like you?" Burt asked.

"Because he hasn't come to see me in a long time."

Kurt sounded so forlorn, his small mouth tilting down. Burt straightened his tie and bent to kiss the top of his head. "You'll get to see him tonight," he said. "Okay? And he'll be happy to see you. Real happy."

Carole peeked into the room, adjusting her earrings. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Ready!" Kurt said. He took Burt's hand. "Let's go, okay?"

Burt squeezed his hand. "Okay," he said. "C'mon, bud."

He and Carole loaded the two boys into the car with minimal hassle, even with getting Kurt in his booster seat. The boys were excited, talking eagerly about seeing their friends, and Finn wasn't even complaining about the tie his mother had forced him to wear. Kurt, on the other hand, kept preening, petting at his neatly combed hair and his bow tie.

The church parking lot was crowded, the ground heavily iced over, and Burt picked Kurt out of his booster seat nervously. "I'm going to carry you, okay?" Burt said. "I don't want you to slip."

"I'm not a baby, I can walk," Kurt protested.

"Let Daddy carry you, sweetheart," Carole said, patting his thigh. "Finn, hold my hand, okay?"

Finn hopped up and down beside her. "Do you see Lucy?" he asked. "I want to see Lucy."

"I don't see her yet, honey, now walk carefully before you fall," Carole said.

The church lobby was warm and crowded, and Burt didn't dare put Kurt down yet, not with all of the people pressing in around them. "Let's go find a place to sit, and then we can find your friends, okay?" he said.

They found an empty few near the back and got the boys settled, setting their coats aside in a pile and tucking mittens into Carole's purse. "Can I go find Lucy now?" Finn begged, but the church choir was already filing in.

"We'll find them afterwards, okay?" Carole promised. "Sit down, baby."

Kurt slid off Burt's lap to sit beside Finn, both of them obediently quiet between the two grownups. Burt started to relax a little. Carole was right. Kurt was going to be fine. The sanctuary was alight with candles and beautifully decorated, and the music was wonderful, even to his unrefined ears. He watched Kurt drink in everything, his blue eyes wide and glowing.

"Now we'd like all of the children to come up to hear the Christmas story," the pastor said from the pulpit. "Kids, come on up and take a seat."

"Can we go?" Finn whispered loudly.

"Only if you take good care of your brother," Carole whispered back. "Go on."

Finn took Kurt's hand. "C'mon," he said.

Kurt followed behind him, fingers laced through Finn's. Burt watched them follow the other kids up the aisle.

"Kurt!" a voice called, a little too loud, and Burt watched as Blaine darted towards them, his dark curls ruffled and eyes bright.

Kurt paused, turning to look over his shoulder, and broke into a bright smile. "Hi!" he said, sweet and sunshiny, and before he could say another word Blaine flung his arms around Kurt, hugging him tightly.

Burt leaned forward without meaning to, but Blaine was holding on too tight. What if he hurt him?

But Kurt shifted in Blaine's grip, letting go of Finn's hand, and hugged him back. "I missed you," he said, leaning his head against Blaine's shoulder.

A lump rose in Burt's throat at the pure happiness on the dark-haired boy's face. "C'mon, you and Finn can sit with me," Blaine said, taking Kurt's hand in his and holding on gently. Kurt followed him to the front, gazing up at Blaine with adoration in his big blue eyes.

Burt didn't hear a word of the nativity storybook the pastor read to the children assembled at the front of the sanctuary. He could see his boys sitting on the lowest step, Finn and Blaine on either side of Kurt with Lucy sitting close beside them. Every so often Blaine would look over at Kurt, beaming, as if he was just so pleased to see him that he couldn't contain it.

A lump rose in Burt's throat. He shouldn't have kept the boys apart.

When the story was over the children dispersed back to their seats. Blaine walked Kurt back to his place, still holding his hand. "Hi, Mister Burt," he whispered loudly.

"Hi, Blaine," he said, letting Finn and Kurt crawl over his legs to take their seats again. "The boys can see you when the service is over, okay?"

Blaine nodded eagerly and ran back to his parents. Burt wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "How're you doing?" he whispered.

Kurt nestled into his side, pulling his legs up and tucking his thumb in his mouth. Burt let him snuggle beside him, rubbing his hip gently. The ushers started to pass out candles but he handed his off to Finn, knowing that before long he'd have a sleeping child on his lap, and he didn't want to balance a candle over him. Sure enough, he felt Kurt go limp beside him, falling over his knees as he dozed off. Burt stroked his hair while the church choir sang about a silent night, watching the candlelight play across Kurt's peaceful little face. Finn balanced his candle gingerly in his hands, watching the wax drip down in fascination. Carole wrapped an arm around his shoulders, singing along, and Burt exhaled slowly. They almost looked like a family.

Kurt woke up as the last song started to play, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He seemed confused and disoriented, his mouth wobbling a little, and Burt pulled him onto his lap, shushing him gently. Kurt settled down, patting his hands over Burt's fingers and leaning back against his chest.

He was wide awake and alert when the service ended, drumming his fingers on Burt's knuckles. "Can I go see Blaine now?" he asked, but before Burt could give him permission, Blaine ran over to them.

"Hi!" he said. "Let's go see Lucy!"

Kurt was off Burt's lap and clutching Blaine's hand before he could stop them. "Finn, stay with Kurt," he said. Finn darted off behind the boys, and Burt leaned back against the pew.

Carole reached over and squeezed Burt's hand. "This was a good idea," she said. "The boys seem so happy."

"You think Kurt's wearing himself out?" he asked.

"He seems fine to me," Carole said. "Besides, you can't keep him inside the house forever."

"Yeah, but it's safer in there," Burt grumbled.

Carole rubbed his hand. "You can't let him live in a bubble, Burt," she said.

He watched the kids play at the front of the church. Blaine was talking animatedly, waving his hands in excitement, and Lucy kept laughing, the candlelight gleaming on her red hair. Kurt sat on the steps, his face lit up, and Finn sat behind him with his long legs splayed out.

After a while Blaine's older sister came to get him and so did Lucy's parents. Finn helped Kurt to his feet, but when he noticed the smaller boy seemed overwhelmed by the crowd, he hefted Kurt onto his back and carried him piggyback over to them.

"We got to see Blaine and Lucy!" Finn reported, clearly ecstatic.

"Lucy says she thinks she's getting a puppy for Christmas," Kurt said, clinging to Finn's neck like a little monkey. "Daddy, is Santa going to bring us a puppy for Christmas?"

"I don't think Sammy would like having a puppy around very much," Burt laughed. He picked Kurt up and set him on his hip. "C'mon, boys, let's head on home. We've got cookies to put out for Santa."

He and Carole bundled the boys into their coats and hats and mittens. It was snowing again, and Kurt buried his cold little nose in Burt's neck to stay warm. They loaded the kids into the car and Burt drove home, Carole pointing out all the Christmas lights they passed, but by the time they got home both boys were asleep.

Carole laughed softly at the sight of the two sleeping boys. "You take Finn, I'll take Kurt," she said. "He's gotten too big for me to carry."

"I'm on it," Burt said, scooping the lanky eight-year-old out of the backseat. Finn slept like the dead, limp and heavy, and he didn't wake up as Burt carried him into the house and set him down on the couch.

He wrestled Finn out of his coat and set it aside. Finn bolted awake. "Santa come?" he asked.

"Nope, not yet," Burt said. "Wanna set out milk and cookies before you go to bed?"

"Yeah, or Santa won't want to give Kurt and me any presents," Finn said. Burt watched, amused, as Finn zipped around the kitchen, making a crumbly mess of the Christmas cookies and spilling milk all over the counter.

"Thank you've got enough cookies?" Burt asked, amused.

"I think Santa'll like 'em," Finn said. He carried the plate in gingerly and set it down with a glass of milk. "Now I'd better go to bed before Santa gets here." He paused. "Can I sleep in Kurt's room? Like a sleepover? 'Cause it's Christmas?"

"You go get your pajamas on and I'll ask him," Burt said.

Finn ran to obey and Burt headed upstairs. Carole was helping Kurt into his pajamas while he was still mostly asleep, his blue eyes nearly closed. "Come on, sweetie, help me out a little," she smiled, pulling his shirt off his thin arms.

"Finn says I gotta go to sleep or Santa won't come," Kurt whined. "Santa's never come for me before, Carole. I hafta go to sleep or he won't come again."

Carole kissed him on the cheek. "Santa will be here," she reassured him. She pulled his pajama top over his head. "There. Now get into bed."

Kurt crawled obediently onto his bed and laid down, waiting to be tucked in. "Finn wants to know if he can have a sleepover in your room," Burt said. "That sound like fun?"

"Uh-huh, but tell him he can't kick," Kurt said. He blinked up at Burt. "Tuck me in, Daddy?"

"Wait for Finn," Burt said. A second later Finn came racing into the room, dressed in his Christmas reindeer pajamas, and jumped onto the bed. "Gentle, kid, gentle!"

"Sorry," Finn said, crawling beside Kurt and lying down beside him. "We can sleep now so Santa will come."

"All right, boys, lie down and go to sleep," Burt said, drawing the blankets up around them. "And don't get up till Carole and I come and get you, okay? No peeking at the tree."

"Yes, Daddy," Kurt murmured, his thumb hovering around his mouth.

"Night, Mister Burt," Finn said as he cuddled beside Kurt.

"Night, boys," Burt said. He bent to kiss Kurt's soft cheek. "Sleep tight. Merry Christmas."

He and Carole slipped out of the room, turning off the overhead light and leaving the door open just a crack. "Time for Christmas," Carole whispered. "I'll go get the presents."

"I'll get the bikes," Burt whispered back.

They had probably spent way too much on gifts for the boys, but it was Kurt's first real Christmas. He'd never had a tree, or presents, or a stocking, or even a Christmas dinner. Everything was a new experience for him. And Burt had every intention of making his first Christmas a good one.

He went into the garage, pulling back the tarp that covered the two new bicycles, and wheeled them into the house. Sammy followed at his heels, sniffing at the training wheels- a Batman bike for Finn and a bright aqua Schwinn for Kurt. He parked them beside the Christmas tree, angled so they would be the first things the boys saw when they came down the stairs in the morning.

"Burt. Burt, come here."

He adjusted the handlebars of Kurt's bicycle and walked over to the kitchen. "What is it?" he asked.

Carole held out two pieces of paper. "I read their letters to Santa," she said. "This is Kurt's."

He looked down at the page and smiled. "Dear Santa," he read. "I would like a bike for Christmas, but one with the extra wheels so I don't fall over." He grinned wider. "Well, he'll be a happy kid tomorrow morning. And hey, his spelling's getting better."

"Now look at Finn's," Carole said quietly.

He took it, still grinning, but as he read the letter he covered his mouth with his hand.

_Dear Santa,_

_I was going to ask you for a Nerf gun, since you forgot to bring one last year, but I changed my mind. Remember how I used to ask you for a little brother every year, until my mom said I should stop cause there wasn't going to ever be a little brother? Well I want Kurt to be my little brother, so for Christmas could Kurt stay with Mister Burt forever and be my little brother? He's happy here and he's getting a lot better and I really want us to all stay together and be a family and stuff._

_Also I've been mostly good this year except when I put gum in Rachel Berry's hair, but that was Noah's idea so really it wasn't my fault._

_Sincerely,_

_Finn Christopher Hudson_

Burt stared down at the sloppily written letter. "He's a smart kid," he said, his throat unusually tight. He folded the crumpled paper. "He's a real smart kid."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I'M ALIIIIIIIIIVE!

Thank you all so much for your (mostly) patient waiting! I know it's been a long time- nearly a year!- since I updated this one, but I've always had every intention of coming back to it. I got really burned out on this story and knew I would need a break after chapter 18, but I had no clue it would be this long! It's also been a really hard year for me personally, and to be honest I haven't really enjoyed writing in a long time. But I feel like it's coming back!

I hope you liked this update! It's nice and sweet and fluffy after the past few chapters of angst, but we'll be getting some more angst soon, especially as they continue looking for Kurt's biological mother and Kurt continues to recover. (If you're confused on the timeline, this chapter takes place about a month after the previous one.)

There's five more chapters left of this bad boy, and then I plan on writing a sort of coda, so to speak, that shows what happens after the conclusion of the story. And once this is done...I'm probably going to work on Knife Going In! Fingers crossed. :)


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